


Left Unsaid

by Elle_Smith



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Child Death, F/M, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Rape, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Suspense, Terrorism, Thriller, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 184,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Smith/pseuds/Elle_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Christmas AC 204 there were seven victims, each too different to indicate a certain pattern, yet all were brutally tortured and finally murdered. Anyone could be next – New York City was being terrorized. The hateful crimes made waves in the community and called for Preventer's intervention. News of it even traveled up to the Colonies. They called him "The Redeemer", because he only killed his victims after they were forced to call their loved ones and beg for the redemption found in death. He has been claiming victim after victim and it seemed that there was no stopping him. That is, until he reached a victim who didn't know who to call...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. L2

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:**  
>  GUNDAM WING is a Registered Trademark of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency  & TV Asahi. This work of fiction was written for non-profitable purposes. Non-Gundam Wing related names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
> 
> **Warnings:**  
>  I'll start off by saying that I'm an avid 1x2/2x1 fan – first and foremost. That being said, I don't rule out the very feasible notion that Heero and Relena love each other and I believe that they can totally have a go at a romantic relationship. Hence, you can expect both in this story. And now to some actual warnings:
> 
> This story is rated MA for it contains explicit content suitable for mature adults only:  
>  \- Homosexual themes  
>  \- Violence, torture, sex and death (some graphic)  
>  \- Nonconsensual sex (some graphic)  
>  \- Obscene language  
>  \- Psychological and religious ranting  
>  \- Dark themes and deep angst  
>  \- 1x2/2x1, 1xR/2xR
> 
>   **Read at your own discretion.**
> 
> **Author's Note:**  
>  Christmas 2013 and my muses were bustling. Winter is a blessed time for artistic muses to run free. How the Hell did those traitorous muses take a turn to the "dark side" is beyond me, but I couldn't fight inspiration. It took me about a year to complete it, but here it is – ready just in time for Christmas 2014!  
>  A word of caution to this tale: it is anything but "Christmasy". I was inspired by many things, none of which merry. Please take my warnings seriously. I'm not saying that this story is evil incarnate, but it does contain a few gruesome scenes and dark themes. I tried to tone it down as much as I could without compromising the integrity of the story.  
>  Lastly, although much has inspired this story, the most noteworthy of all is an old 1x2 fan fiction I've re-read a while ago: "Dark Matter" by LoneWolf (you can find it on the Shinigami and Wing website). I am mentioning LoneWolf's work because it's appropriate to give credit where credit is due. That being said, I would like to emphasize that my plotline isn't the same as LoneWolf's. My focus is elsewhere. I really was just inspired by an intriguing idea and by no means attempting to surpass an excellent piece of fiction.  
>  I would love to read your reviews, good or bad – just as long as it's constructive.  
>  **Plus, I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).**  
>  Elle S.
> 
>  
> 
> See the end of the story for a research bibliography and list of citations.
> 
>  
> 
> **With many thanks to Nicki.**
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/130931047@N06/15735544023/in/dateposted-public/)

* * *

 

**Chapter 01: L2**

"Love comes in various forms: romantic love, parental love, brotherly love... but the greatest of all is Godly love! It's the love that God had for mankind when He sent Jesus into the world to become a sacrifice for our sins. There is no greater love!" An old priest's voice vibrated throughout a small church. Candles flickered as though bowing to his passionate sermon. It was twelve days before Christmas and the humble house of worship was decorated for the holiday. A modest Christmas tree stood on the elevated altar, twinkling with colorful ornaments.

"That is the kind of love this world needs to know," the old man continued; "It's the very love that caused Jesus to leave Heaven for earth and become our Savior! This is the kind of love that will redeem us all!"

A few worshipers in the audience nodded their heads in blind agreement. They were men and women of all ages, ethnics and sizes; their only common factor being that they belonged to the same congregation living in a rundown urban neighborhood on Colony L2-V08744, more commonly known as "The Slums of Space". Some sat in shabby clothes and dirt-streaked faces: the homeless. Others wore blue-collar work attire under their ragged coats; hands filthy and callous by hard labor. A longing, haunted gleam shone in their weary eyes as they looked up at the altar, drinking the old priest's words hungrily.

"How can we come to know what true love is?" the priest questioned his followers; "Are we listening to the media or to our Holy God?" he paused, letting his audience ponder the question, before he continued his heated lecture; "Hate dominates our world! It has contaminated mankind for centuries! People are living with hatred. Look at the Anti-Colonists movements flooding Earth's streets with racism as they sermonize about hatred towards us... look at the numerous murders they've committed! Look at the awful carnage of Christmas AC 203! It's a world drunk with violence! Eight years of peace they say, but nothing is peaceful. The world only knows how to hate."

More heads nodded keenly, agreeing with his every word.

"We should all look at an "out of this world" example if we wish to find salvation. We should all look at Jesus Christ – he showed us and taught what real Christian love is. We know love by understanding Jesus' death!" he roared, and the crowd nodded in agreement. "We give gifts to those we love at Christmas, but no one has ever given, or will ever give a better gift than God gave when He sent Jesus. And no one will ever love us more than God loves us!"

Comfort washed over many faces in the small crowd seated on the benches. A few people smiled. Only one face remained indifferent to the priest's words. Hard cobalt eyes glared at the old man, seething with bitterness and abhor.

"Jesus said that no man could have a greater love than that he would lay down his life for his friends; and then He laid down His life for His enemies so that they might become His friends. Our puny minds cannot _begin_ to fathom the depths of this love. We can only fall to our knees and worship Him, praise Him, adore Him, for His excellent gift."

Cobalt eyes rolled backwards in a subtle display of insolence.

"John 3:16 – 'by this we know love' – is the briefest and best definition of love there is! Don't be fooled by what you hear, see and read in the media! Don't be misled by your misguided hearts! We could not know love apart from God! God _is_ love. And if we do not know love – His kind of love – then we don't know love at all. All other affections, no matter what we call them, fall short and incomplete of what they could be, if not based on this kind of love. Love God first, then you will know how to love others. This is the cure of mankind and what better time to embrace this truth than on Christmas! Let us celebrate eight years of peace by showing our fellow men that we love and accept them. Only then will the violence finally end!"

An old woman began to cry silently and a few others were also tearing up. Seated by the weeping old woman was a young man in his mid-twenties. While others around him were deeply moved by the sermon, this young man sat still and rigid, glaring daggers at the priest. He stood out in the crowd for another good reason: his appearance. He was well dressed; his dark blue jeans, clean white shirt and slick black leather jacket clearly gave him away as an outsider. His hair, a rich chestnut color with a healthy shine, was clean and well groomed, gathered into a thick long braid tucked into the back of his jacket. His features were round, hale and hearty; set in a hard, defying expression. The only item that hinted at his connection to the church was the plain silver cross pendant hanging from his neck by a thin chain, peeking behind the open trims of his leather jacket. He sat with his fists clenched over his kneecaps, listening to the sermon while fuming silently with rage.

The service ended and the crowd gradually scattered, each returning to their gray and bitter little lives. The old priest retired to his chamber at the back of the church. The braided young man remained seated at the bench, staring numbly at the candles burning by the altar. After a minute or so he finally stood up, crossed his heart, and followed the old priest to his retreat. He marched down a dimly lit hallway, a determined expression set on his hard face. As he approached the closed door at the end, he reached a hand to push his jacket aside slightly, revealing a polished police badge pinned to his belt, as well as a pistol in a concealed carry-holster above his belt. His hand hovered above the weapon as he pushed the door open without warning and stomped into the room.

The old priest, who was leaning over his desk, jumped back in fright. On the desk, among Holy Scripture and scribbled notepads, lay a plastic CD cover and on it piles of pale-pink powder, divided into two lines. The old man was holding a magnetic strip card in his hand, its edges soiled with pink powder. He looked up at the young cop in surprise, before his expression fell with relief. He offered a nervous smile and said: "Christ, Duo, you scared the bejesus outta me!"

"How about you put that shit away before I see sumthin' I ain't s'posed to?" Duo offered and pushed his leather jacket aside to show his L2PD badge and gun more clearly. The old man nodded eagerly and hurried to hide the evidence of his misconduct under a thick book. He wiped the powder off his hands by rubbing them together hastily and then turned to his visitor with a wily smile.

"I didn't think you'd bother coming for the whole service," he said; "Did you enjoy the sermon?"

Duo glared at him impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. "I ain't here to give you any hail Marys, Father," he snapped; "Now you got sumthin' for me or what?"

The old man sighed. "I was thinking about you when I wrote it," he confessed quietly as he turned to rummage his desk, opening drawers in search for something.

"Sure you were," Duo scoffed.

"I'm sure that at least some of it was familiar," the priest insisted, looking up hopefully at Duo as he stood by the open desk drawer. "Father Maxwell was very fond of that verse..." he added quietly as he reached into the drawer; "He always brought it up at around Christmas, remember?" he finished with a wistful sigh as he handed Duo a small plastic bag, no bigger than a sugar-pack.

"All I remember is you two arguing all the time," Duo muttered gruffly and snatched the bag from the old man's hand.

The old priest let out a pensive chuckle. "Yeah, I was young... still passionate. Those were good times. I miss our debates."

Duo glowered at the old man, his eyes burning loathly. It looked like he had a lot to say, but was restraining himself.

"That the new poison everyone's jabbering about?" he asked coldly instead, waving the small bag in front of the light above to examine its content closely. It was filled with tiny pinkish-white crystals that shone in the light.

"It's pure _magic_ ," the priest nodded to confirm, smiling dreamily; "The purest out there."

"So I hear," Duo sighed and shoved the small bag into his pocket. "Don't suppose you know where I could go if I wanna extend my compliments to the chef?"

"Sorry, not this time," the man apologized; "but I'll keep an ear out in confession," he promised and Duo rolled his eyes. "Good cooks like to brag."

"Can't believe people confide in you..." he mumbled, shaking his head in disapproval.

"What can I say... I'm a man of God. People trust me."

"Talk about the blind leading the blind..." Duo grumbled, glaring at the dusty pinkish remnants on the men's wooden desk. He turned to leave.

"You hear about Jesse?" the old man called after him. Duo stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around, angry.

"What about him?" he growled.

"He's in The Pit again," the old man elaborated, casting his gaze down sadly; "Thought you should know."

"Fuck," the young cop hissed, fuming.

"It's the Magic... it really got him hooked this time. He's been back in the habit for a while. I hear he went into The Pit a few days ago and never came out..."

"Stupid junkie," Duo grumbled. "Fuck!"

"You'll get him outta there, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure... don't I always..." Duo heaved a long sigh and rubbed his face tiredly. "Thanks for the info, Father," he finally said and turned to walk out of the small office.

"What about you?" the old man called after him and Duo stopped at the doorway, tensing, his rigid back facing the priest. "What about me?" he grunted defensively.

"Keeping clean? I haven't seen you in group for a while."

"Yeah, been busy," Duo muttered tiredly and then finally left, stomping out of the church.

*     *     *

He threw himself into his car, sinking into the driver's seat in exhaustion. The battered brown sedan was parked in a dark lot in front of the small church, the only bright source of light in a shady slum neighborhood. Duo pulled a cigarette box out of his jacket's pocket; it was a white/blue box branded _'Winston Blue'_. He fished out a smoke and a lighter. The flame's soft halo washed his face with a warm glow, casting menacing shadows on his grim expression. He took a long, relaxing drag and leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed as he released a long column of smoke into the air.

For a long while, he remained completely motionless, the cigarette burning away in his hand. Finally, he sighed and straightened back up. After placing the burning butt between his pressed lips, he reached into his pocket again and pulled out the small plastic bag he'd been given by the priest. He toyed with it in his hand, feeling the small pinkish crystals rubbing against the soles of his fingers as though to tease him, taunting him into their allure. He stared at them long and hard, fighting temptation. It was a sick game, one he played often: dancing with danger, walking a fine line between right and wrong... testing his resolve again and again. The rush was hardly the same as actually surrendering to temptation, but it was all he had now that he was clean, going on eighteen months now.

His cellphone rang; an old melancholic rock song disturbing the perfect silence as the ringtone played. Duo ignored it and continued toying with the small packet, shifting it between his fingers like an expert thief or magician. The cellphone kept ringing. Releasing a peeved sigh, Duo shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, glaring at the display. It was an unknown number, which was not unusual. Mostly snitches had his unlisted number and they all concealed their caller ID when calling. His number was sort of a 911 for local criminals; they trusted him with their shit and in return for his help, they offered theirs when he called in a favor.

Duo stared numbly at the phone, wondering how long it would take the snitch to give up. The longer the phone rang, the more urgent the call. He counted the beats, waiting for the exact moment before the call will be directed to voicemail – playing chicken with whoever was calling. The caller wasn't giving up, which meant that it was important. Duo took the call, yielding to the chicken game because he had to. He was one of the good guys after all.

"Maxwell," he huffed into the phone and took another drag on his nearly burnt-out cigarette, waiting for an answer. None came. He frowned. "Hello?" he grunted impatiently; "Start talkin' or I'm hangin' up."

More silence.

"Da fuck is this?" Duo hissed; "Jesse you fuck – that you? I'm gonna bust your _stupid junkie ass_ , you hear! Father Dixon told me all 'bout you breaking bad again! What'd I tell you?! Next time you're on your own! You better not be in trouble, got it – cuz I'm DONE!"

Still no answer; whoever it was – he wasn't talking. Duo strained his ears, listening to whatever clue that would give the caller away. He could hear faint breathing, shallow and irregular.

"Fuck!" he cussed and hung up the call, throwing the cellphone to the passenger's seat. He shoved his keys into the ignition, started the car and sped off, tires screeching.

*     *     *

No matter what time of day, L2PD station was always bustling with activity; chaotic and noisy. Phones rang off the hook, cops rushed in and out, escorting punks, criminals, junkies and whores. Morning hours were relatively calm, but only to the trained eye.

Duo strode hastily through the crowded mess, holding a paper coffee cup as he headed towards a desk marked _'Detective D. Maxwell'_. He settled heavily into his chair and began shuffling through a mountain of paperwork while sipping his beverage.

"Maxwell!" a gruff male voice called loudly; "Get your ass in here – NOW!"

The familiar, all too frequent shout, was coming from the Department's Chief's office. Duo sighed and walked over there resignedly. He closed the slat-blinds-covered glass door and turned to face the grumpy old man seated behind a hefty desk. He waited wordlessly to be admonished.

"Da fuck is that I hear you were snooping around The Pit last night?" the Chief burst heatedly the moment the door closed. "That place is _off limits_! No one goes near that drug lair until I say so – and I dun give a flying fuck if you useta be a fancy pilot or whatever! We don't do solo missions here, Maxwell!"

"I got a tip about Jesse," Duo stated calmly, unfazed by the man's menacing act. "I was just taking a look around. I didn't breach surveillance protocols or nuthin'."

"It's enough that my men saw you. Who knows who else did! Fuck, Maxwell, what were you thinking?! We lost three men down there last week. Ain't that enough? The place is _off limits –_ period!"

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time, Chief," Duo sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "Are we done?"

"I got 'nough of Earth breathing down ma neck for that crazy new shit floodin' their streets. _L2 Magic_ they're callin' it! _Fuckin' assholes_ want the whole damn world ta know where their shit's comin' from! I don't need you bustin' my operation. The DEA is all over me as it is! Do I have to remind you what would happen if shit hits the fan and Earth cuts off support to L2? Do you want the whole colony to look like The Pit?! Is that it?! You wanna singlehandedly turn us back into God forsaken slums?!"

"No, sir... of course not," Duo mumbled, casting his gaze down in an attempt to control his temper and avoid an insolent outburst.

"Then get that stupid brain of yours workin' or I swear to God I'll—"

"Chief," a female officer opened the office door and peeked into the room; "the governor's on line one."

"Shit," the older man cussed, shaking his head as he reached for his phone. "I'm not done with you," he warned Duo, waving a reprimanding figner as he picked up the receiver. "Now scoot," he ordered and motioned the young cop to leave.

Duo turned to the door, his fist clenched tightly around the doorknob; he yanked it open. He stopped at the open doorway, his head bowed low and his back still facing the Chief. "Jesse was Joe's kid," he reminded his boss quietly; "I'm just looking out for what's left of my partner."

The Chief sighed, his harsh expression softening slightly. "I know," he whispered softly, his finger hovering over the button that will connect the governor's call. "But there's only so much we can do for someone who doesn't want to be saved," he concluded grimly and then finally pressed the button. "Robert! Well this is a surprise..." he greeted in a much more pleasant voice, spinning his chair around to face away from the doorway; "What can I do for you?"

Duo left the office, slamming the door shut behind him. A small crowd was gathered around the TV set hanging on the wall in the far corner of the large room. Frowning at the unusual sight, Duo approached; curious to see what the commotion was all about. Looking up at the footage, he saw some kind of press conference being held in front of a bustling crowd. A smartly-dressed female spokesperson was addressing the media from a press podium on a stage. A row of law enforcement personnel sat behind her. There was a Preventer insignia on the screen behind them, along with a New York City seal.

"...Meanwhile, we are doing everything we can to ensure that the population remains alert of the situation," the woman addressed her audience. "There is no need for panic, but caution is advised."

"Does this mean there might be attacks on the general population?" one reported interjected. "Are we dealing with a terrorist or a serial killer?"

"That has yet to be determined," the woman explained calmly. "So far there's no clear indication of national motives behind the killings, but given the victims' nature, the possibility hasn't been ruled out completely."

"Is that why Preventer is taking over the case?" another reporter asked; "Don't these murders fall by nature under NYPD's jurisdiction?"

The woman nodded, already prepared for the question, and leaned into the microphones. "A joint taskforce has been appointed to the case. This way the investigation will benefit from the expertise of both parties."

More reporters bombarded the woman with simultaneous questions. Duo watched the chaos numbly, not really interested in Earth's problems; they had enough of their own up here on L2.

A movement in the corner of the screen caught his eyes. A figure walked up hastily to the stage, moving in a brisk and familiar pace as it passed behind the spokeswoman and headed towards one of the officials sitting behind her. It was a young man, dressed in official type-A Preventer uniforms: black dress pants and a black jacket with khaki shoulder patches and a 'P' insignia on each sleeve. His brown hair was short yet messy at the front; a heap of unruly bangs concealing his face as he leaned down towards the older man he had approached, whispering something to him. He handed the man, his superior no doubt, a mobile phone and the man accepted it quietly. Duo watched, his eyes agape, as the young agent straightened back up, preparing to leave the stage. Before he did, he paused, just for a moment, his eyes catching the camera's lens. A pair of fierce Prussian blue eyes stared directly at him and Duo's breath hitched in his throat. He couldn't breathe. His heart thumped wildly. He watched, stunned, as the young agent turned on his heels and left the stage quickly, walking out of the camera's range.

"Can you believe this shit?" one cop approached Duo from behind and patted him on the back. "Them bitches just can't keep their hands off our turf," he grunted; "God damn Prevees. They don't think The Fives can catch that guy."

"What's this shit about anyway?" Duo huffed gruffly, not really interested.

"Some psycho runnin' amok, killing off their agents. Some fanatic or sumthin', but they keep saying he's a terrorist or whatever. It's been all ova the news lately, didn't ja hear?"

"Da fuck do I care what's goin' on over there!" Duo exclaimed bitterly; "Fucking _utopia_..." He turned away from the TV. "We got _real_ work to do up here," he grunted and stomped back to his desk.

"Amen to that!" his colleague called after him, laughing.

*     *     *

A couple of guys from work offered that he'd join them for a beer after hours and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, like always. Ever since Joe's death, his peers did whatever they could to try to get him out more. He wasn't the socializing type; hasn't been one for a very long time now. He preferred to keep to himself, drinking alone in his apartment. It was easier to be alone, that way he didn't have to be reminded by every little thing how much it hurt to love and depend on someone.

Dr. Gavin – the damn psychiatrist he was forced to visit weekly ever since Joe died – said that he should go out more, make some new friends. For a year she's been nagging him to go drink beer with his fellow cops, go out on dates... form relationships. _Bullshit_. The guys he worked with would _never_ go to the kind of bars he'd enjoy, and he couldn't risk anyone finding out. Like his hair wasn't a dead giveaway... cops were whispering about him in the locker-room all the time. The last thing he needed was to give them some solid confirmation. It would be the end of him. People weren't so open minded on L2; Joe was one of the few who knew and were actually okay about it. Now, he was dead.

Duo had no need for friends on the force; not anymore. He couldn't afford to have anyone... they all tended to die at one point or another: a bank robbery, gang-fights, drug busts... an L2PD cop's life expectancy wasn't a very long one. Now with that new poison on the streets, it was getting harder and harder to keep track of all the killings. Cops were dropping like flies. So no, he didn't need anyone; he was fine drinking alone. And as for romantic relationships... he was fine without those too. The last person he had dared opening up to spat in his face, crushed his heart and dumped it out the nearest airlock. So yeah, he was fine being alone, repressing shit, hurting and drinking in the darkness of his living room until memories of loneliness and rejection became just another bitter sting on his tongue.

He was in a fouler mood than usual today, so his peers had to practically drag him with them to their regular hanging joint – a small pub frequented by cops. They sat him at the bar with a jug of local beer and didn't leave him alone until he drank it. L2 brew was hard to swallow, but that was the point. You weren't a part of the place if you couldn't keep it down.

Soon enough his fellow cops were pretty tipsy. They joked around, jeering and taunting each other in a friendly manner, telling dirty jokes and laughing drunkenly. Duo sat quietly, hunched over his beer, brooding and glaring at the polished bar surface.

"Check that one out," one of his peers said and elbowed Duo in the ribs to get his attention. "Red dress," he pointed out; "Man, that must be a seven or an eight."

Duo looked up, glancing briefly at a girl standing at the other side of the bar. She was a pretty brunette wearing a tight red dress and too much makeup. He looked back down at his drink, his expression sullen. "A six maybe," he muttered and took a long gulp, after which he added: "but definitely not an eight." He took another swig of beer.

The young cop laughed. "We should definitely have a talk 'bout your taste in women!" he joked and took a sip from his own beer. "That broad ain't nowhere near a six!" He placed his empty beer jug on the bar, beaming with confidence. "I'm makin' a move."

Another cop, an older man, shook his head, laughing. "You gotta 'nother thing comin' for ya if you think you stand a chance next to _that_ guy over there."

That got Duo's attention. He looked up, his eyes fixing on the young man standing next to the girl in the red dress; he was a dark and strapping man of Latin origin. Duo studied him quietly, his eyes lingering far too long for his gaze to remain innocent. He sighed and cast his eyes back down. He took a swig of beer, emptying the jug quickly, watching his peer through the glass as the young cop left to make his flirtations anyway. Having a will of their own, his eyes slowly drifted back towards the handsome young man standing next to the girl. He watched him from behind the shelter of his beer mug. Once he realized he was ogling, Duo quickly looked away. He set the beer down and signaled the bartender to approach. "Get me sumthin' real to drink," he demanded bitterly; "Jameson, straight up... and keep 'em comin'."

*     *     *

A powerful and scalding shower stream beat down against Duo's muscular back. The tanned skin on his well-toned backside was tarnished with faded traces of scar-tissue – old welts. He stood under the showerhead, resting his forehead against the cool white porcelain wall. His arms dangled lifelessly at his sides, water sliding down his sturdy limbs. His long hair was undone, wet and plastered over his well-toned backside. His shoulders were slumped in exhaustion and his eyes were closed as he allowed the hot water to wash over his naked body.

Images flickered like a dying flame behind his closed eyelids: Memories of sleek nude male bodies, taut, needy and wet, moving together in clumsy passion under the shower stream inside a narrow, shady stall. Hungry hands and mouths exploring... touching... everywhere. Nothing was ever close enough, never good enough, but still... there was an effort to connect, an attempt to answer burning needs and unidentified desires. Fierce blue eyes burnt with lust as steely hands gripped him by his hips, pulling him closer, about to devour him. The sex was desperate; brutal, hot and furious. It was so good, so primal and so... so long ago.

Duo shuddered under the water stream, groaning helplessly as he came into his own hand. He kept his head pressed against the wall; his eyes clenched tightly until his breath evened. He turned off the water and shoved the shower curtain aside. He was immediately faced with a fogged mirror reflecting his blurry image. He stood still, staring at it numbly, his eyes seeing something else entirely. His eyes saw Heero; no longer a teenage boy, but a man: tall, strapping, dark and intense. Jesus Christ... Heero must have been on that screen for less than fifteen seconds and that was more than enough to send Duo spiraling back into a past he tried so hard to put behind him.

Duo blinked and the image of Heero's piercing blue gaze was replaced with his own reflection. The steam has cleared and Duo could now see his image clearly. It was not the same image that flickered in his mind just now. This body was older; fuller and taller. He too was no longer a boy; no longer worshiped by those steely hands; no longer looked at by those fiery Prussian blue eyes... except for today. Today those eyes seemed to look straight at him, as though seeing only him through thousands of miles across Earth and Space. He felt that gaze as if it was really on him. He shuddered at memory and then froze, angry with himself. He glared at his reflection, his eyes full of reproach.

"Fucking stupid," he hissed and then snatched a towel, refusing to look at himself any further.

*     *     *

Duo sat at his desk, sipping black coffee from a paper cup while working on his computer. The usual commotion bustled all around him, but years in the force have taught him to tune it out and concentrate on whatever he was doing. Currently, he was browsing the Preventer database, or at least the small portion of it he, as Colony law enforcement, was allowed to access. He was sifting through personnel files, looking for a particular name. It wasn't easy to find and some light hacking was required, something that might get him in trouble if anyone found out, but he didn't care. Let curiosity kill the cat; he had walked much finer lines in the past and was still breathing, so who cared.

Finally, he reached the file he was searching for: PERSONNEL FILE NO. 72531101 / AGENT YUY HEERO

Duo pointed the cursor on the link that would open the file, but stopped, hesitating. His finger hovered over the mouse's button. He tapped on it anxiously, but never hard enough to actually click it. He stared at the file name until his vision blurred and he could no longer make out Heero's name. Finally, as though developing a will of its own, his finger pressed down. The page loaded slowly. Duo took a deep breath and straightened in his seat, suddenly nervous, as though by entering the file he was about to actually meet with Heero for the first time in eight years. Stupid, but there was no denying the anxiety he felt.

The file finally loaded and suddenly he was looking straight at Heero's face, the familiar harsh features glaring at him through the monitor. For a second, Duo froze, unable to shake off the feeling of being face-to-face with the man he tried to forget for so many years. Those intense Prussian blue eyes were peering straight into him, so fucking _real_ , even though it was just a damn passport photo.

The photo must be recent, Duo gathered, because Heero looked pretty much the same as seen on TV: a devilishly handsome twenty-four year-old man, dressed in type-A Preventer uniforms and glaring at the camera with a brooding expression and penetrative blue eyes capable of warding-off anyone who dared looking into them. Matured into his twenties, Heero seemed even more intense. God damn him, he was even more gorgeous as a man than he's ever been as a teenage boy... a deadly and irresistible kind of gorgeous. Fuck.

It was a while before Duo was able to tear his eyes off the photo and skim through the file. Most of the information was concealed, censored because it was classified information to anyone accessing via this specific connection, but the service record still contained enough information to paint a sketchy picture of Heero's post-war life:

**PREVENTER HR:** **PERSONNEL FILE NO. 72531101**

**SECURITY CLEARANCE: TS/SCI**

**Name:** Yuy, Heero

**PIN:** 72531101

**Born:** N/A, Est. AC 180

**Status:** Active

 

**01.23.197:** Recruited as agent no. 72531101 at the European HQ, Brussels, Belgium, ESUN. No training required.

**01.24.197:** Served under the Operations Branch – Counterterrorism Division – National Security Branch – European HQ, Brussels, Belgium, ESUN. Appointed Field Agent, Special Agent.

**04.16.199:** Transferred to the Operations Branch – Counterterrorism Division – National Security Branch – North America HQ, Washington DC, United States of America, ESUN. Appointed Field Agent, Special Agent.

**12.27.202:** Inactive: Paid medical leave.

**02.07.204:** Returned to active duty. Not cleared for field duty.

**02.12.204:** Transferred to the Cyber Division – Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch – NYC Field Office, New York City, NY, United States of America, ESUN. Appointed Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge.

**11.02.204:** Cleared for field duty. Transferred to the Violent Crimes Section – Criminal Investigative Division – Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch – NYC Field Office, New York City, NY, United States of America, ESUN. Appointed Field Agent, Special Agent.

**Medals:**

**05.15.198 :** Medal for Meritorious Achievement

**02.22.200:** Shield of Bravery

**04.07.201:** Medal of Valor

**12.30.202:** Preventer Star

It was quite an impressive track record [[i]], but there was not enough information to satisfy his curiosity. From what Duo could gather Heero started off just where he had left him in Brussels after The Second Eve Conflicts ended back in Christmas AC 196. He continued to save the world while working for Preventer's National Security Branch, serving under the Counterterrorism Division. He was later honored with a Medal for Meritorious Achievement, which meant that he had taken part in something big – not surprisingly – and was awarded for "extraordinary and exceptional meritorious service in a duty of extreme challenge and great responsibility"... _whatever._

Then he was transferred to DC's Counterterrorism Division, right around the time – if Duo recalled correctly – Relena Darlian was elected as a member of the ESUN Parliament situated in Brussels. It was an educated guess, because he never bothered following Earth's affairs, especially when it came to politics and even more so if it had anything to do with Ms. Darlian. In fact, he avoided news about her like fire. So Duo opened a new browser window and looked it up to confirm his suspicion. It turned out he was right, which meant only one thing: the two split up in April AC 199. She stayed behind in Europe and Heero fled to the other side of the planet. Duo almost smiled. He wished he'd known that sooner. Then again... would it have made a difference? Probably not.

Heero stayed in DC for a few years (probably the longest he's ever stayed in one place), during which he was awarded with more medals: one for "brave and courageous acts occurring in the line of duty associated with the highest priority cases", as explained in a footnote; another "in recognition of an exceptional act of heroism or voluntary risk of personal safety and life in the direct line of duty", as another footnote mentioned; and lastly he was awarded with the Preventer Star, which was awarded "for serious injury sustained in the direct line of duty from physical confrontation that would require comprehensive medical treatment for a sustained period of time" – Duo didn't even have to read the footnote for that one, because it was pretty clear that whatever happened in Christmas AC 202 had rendered Heero inactive for the whole year of AC 203 and then some.

Then, in AC 204, he returned to active duty and was transferred to New York about ten months ago, serving under a different branch, one responsible for investigating all types of crime, as well as overseeing all computer-based-crime related to counterterrorism, counterintelligence, and criminal threats. Since he was serving as an A-SAC in the Cyber Division, Duo could only conclude that whatever happened to Heero also dictated that he'd fill a desk job position upon his return to duty. It was only a few weeks ago that he was brought back to active field agent duty, under the Criminal Investigative Division, Violent Crimes Section. Duo couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the killings everyone was fretting about. Why else would Heero be at that press conference?

Heaving a melancholic sigh, Duo leaned back into his squeaky chair, one hand tapping on his desk restlessly. He stared at the file in front of him, his expression numb, pensive.

His own service record paled before Heero's. If Preventer's _superstar Agent Yuy_ ever bothered looking it up – which Duo was pretty certain that he had at some point – all there was to find was pretty damn standard: Joined the L2PD force in AC 198, promoted to sergeant in AC 201, made 3 rd grade detective in AC 204, got a few official reprimands noted for reckless behavior and endangering fellow officers, and that's about it. No fancy decorations or anything. Duo was done saving the world and shit. He contributed to his community by working as a detective in the slums he knew so well, fighting crime, drugs and prostitution – which were just as bad as world-threatening terrorism! He was basically a rugged street cop, nothing fancy like Heero's line of work as a top-of-the-line super-agent. Duo found his fulfillment saving the lives of a few street kids here and there; nothing big, but still very rewarding. It was enough. Anything more would be unbearable.

He had built himself a new life on L2 and deliberately lost touch with anything and anyone who tied him to his role as a Gundam pilot. His goal was to begin anew and put his past behind him. To do that, he kept busy – _extremely_ busy. If he wasn't working, always pulling extra shifts, then he was volunteering at the local homeless shelter or youth center. He used every other spare minute to work out, practice at the shooting range or drop like a timber on his bed and sleep like a log. That way, there was no time left to think and process horrors, even though he encountered vicious reminders of his childhood on L2-V08744 every single day. If he had nightmares, he was oblivious of them; he was too tired to dream, which was probably why he hadn't seen even the slightest hint of Heero's face in almost eight years.

And now he was digging around Heero's service record! What the Hell?!

"Jesus," Duo exhaled in self-reproach and hurried to close his browser software. Heero's photo vanished from the screen. Out of sight, out of mind, Duo decided. That was enough self-flagellation for one day. He had cases to work on... and a seventeen-year-old kid to get out of trouble before it's too late.

As though reading his mind, his cellphone, resting by the keyboard, started ringing. Duo turned to look at it, his eyes glued to the words _'N/A'_ displayed boldly on the screen. It was an unknown number. His stomach churned uneasily. He had a bad feeling about this...

He picked up the phone, his finger hesitating a moment before touching the "accept" button. He brought the phone to his ear and greeted: "Maxwell," with a brisk, cold, tone.

This time, the reply was immediate. "Would that be Duo Maxwell?" a deep male voice asked; smug and creepy. Duo straightened in his seat, alert.

"Yeah, who's askin'?" he demanded harshly.

"A friend of a friend," the voice replied in a disturbingly imperturbable tone. "I won't take much of your time," the man promised; "Just answer me this, if you will:" he paused for dramatic effect and then resumed: "how much do you care about him?"

Duo scowled darkly. "About who?" he spat, then gasped; "Jesse? Is this about Jesse?!" he exclaimed, suddenly flustered, and jumped out of his seat.

"He's going to need your help," the spine-chilling voice continued; "Will you come through for him?"

"Listen man, if he's in some kinda trouble I can fix it. I'll pay up or whatever – I got the doe! Just tell me what, when and where and I'm there, man – no funny stuff, I swear!"

He was answered by a long silence, which hopefully meant that the man was contemplating his offer.

"Christ, man... He's just a kid..." Duo urged him, almost pleading. "There's gotta be sumthin' I can d—" he couldn't finish his argument, because the man on the other line hung up.

"Shit!" Duo called and fell back into his chair. He slammed his cellphone against the table, banging it loudly. "Dammit!"

*     *     *

He was tempted to drive by The Pit on his way home, but soon regretted it. The Chief was right. He couldn't go in there without a plan... without backup. He was walking a fine line as it was, and that was why he eventually turned home. The Pit could wait; Jesse wasn't going anywhere. He will come up with a plan first, then get him the Hell out of that Hellhole.

He parked his car in front of a rundown apartment building; an enormous tenement complex typical of L2's former slums. Moving routinely, he placed a sturdy steering-wheel lock on the wheel. Once out of the car, he put an adjustable wheel-lock on the front tire and only then turned to take his things out of the car, locked it and headed towards the building. L2-V08744 didn't exactly have an uptown or a downtown. Every neighborhood was pretty much 'the wrong side of the tracks'; some were just worse than others. Duo's apartment building was located in a more or less quiet urban neighborhood, but one could never be careful enough on L2. The old sedan might look pretty crappy, but it was still a target for local delinquents.

Duo climbed up the stairs leading to the top floor, holding a hefty paper bag full of groceries in his arms. He steadied the bag in one hand before reaching his free hand into his pocket to fish out his keys. The set of keys jingled softly while swinging in his hand and he whistled a vague tune to go along with it.

Two flights of stairs later he finally reached his floor and headed towards his apartment down the hall. He halted when he noted a little boy standing next to his closed door. He was a dark haired child of Latin origin, about six or seven years old, dressed in shabby clothes, a hungry look in his dark brown eyes... the eyes of a neglected puppy.

Duo fought to put on a smile and resumed his approach. "Hey Tomás!" he greeted cheerfully; "What's the matter? Your momma accidently locked you out again?" he asked, even though the answer was quite clear. He could hear the unmistakable moaning emitting from the door of the apartment next to his as he passed by it. The boy's mother was hard at work, which was why she had locked him out.

The boy just kept looking at him with big sad eyes. Duo's strained smile faltered and he turned to unlock his apartment door.

"How about dinner? Sounds nice?" he offered and a small, shy, smile graced the child's lips. "Yeah, bet it does!" Duo called a bit too cheerfully and opened the door, letting the boy in. "I'll get right on it," he promised as he marched towards the small kitchenette and switched on a light. He placed the grocery bag on the small kitchen counter and reached a hand to rummage through its contents, finally pulling out a chocolate candy bar. He handed it to the boy.

"Don't tell your momma I let you have dessert before dinner, huh?" he said with a wink. The child smiled, for real this time, and nodded shyly, accepting the snack with eager hands. He settled on a chair by a small kitchen table, enjoying his snack while watching Duo unpack his groceries. The last two items Duo pulled out of the bag were two frozen TV dinners.

"What will it be tonight," he presented the boy with his choices:  "Mac and Cheese or chicken curry?"

The boy contemplated the question quietly, before pointing at the box with a picture of rice and red chicken curry.

"Excellent choice!" Duo complimented the child, still smiling like an idiot; he couldn't help it, children made him uncomfortable, especially the quiet ones.

"I woulda gone with it too... the Mac and Cheese don't look too edible... da fuck did I buy it anyway?" he chattered on, filling the silence with useless words because otherwise it would become too disturbing and remind him of what he tried to forget: ever since his mother was attacked by one of her clients, Tomás stopped talking. The bastard had raped her brutally without payment, right before the boy's eyes. The only reason the two were even alive was because Duo heard the screaming and stormed into their apartment in the middle of the night, gun drawn, ready to protect and serve – which he had, and just in the nick of time. Ever since, Tomás's mother made sure that her son was safely out of the apartment before accepting clients. But the boy had nowhere to go while she worked. If Duo didn't take him in, the boy roamed the streets and that would eventually lead to one thing – some gang will get its hands on the boy and recruit him into their ranks. That was unacceptable, so Duo tried to help whenever he could. It sure beat spending the evening brooding alone. Now that he thought about it, he should really get a pet...

The microwave oven beeped to signal that the meals were ready. Duo served them to the table and the two sat down to eat.

*     *     *

Later that night Duo was sitting on his sofa, watching TV in the dark. Tomás was lying curled against him the couch, covered by a blanket, his head resting in Duo's lap. Duo had one arm resting over the boy, wrapped around him protectively and holding a remote. His other hand was holding a half-empty beer bottle. One empty bottle was already resting on the coffee table; the green glass reflecting the flickering TV light. Duo sipped his drink quietly, his numb cobalt eyes staring mindlessly at the television screen as he flipped through the channels with no sound on.

He was changing stations so fast that it took his brain a second to process an image that caught his interest: he was pretty certain that he saw footage of the Brooklyn Bridge at night. He flipped back a couple of stations until he found it again. It was some sort of newscast featuring New York City. A title at the bottom of the screen read: _'Breaking News: a 7 th body found in NYC'_. A young woman, a pretty redhead with freckled white porcelain features and bright green eyes, was talking to the camera, a microphone shoved in her face. She was dressed in Preventer uniform and standing by the riverside, the Brooklyn Bridge somewhere far behind her. It was very windy, because the few red locks of hair straying from her up-do were being tousled wildly by the wind. She tucked them repeatedly behind her ear as she spoke to the camera, shouting over the wind. Duo turned the volume up slightly so he could hear.

"...and that's about all we know at this point!" she concluded, sounding a bit peeved. The camera shifted to the side, revealing a male reporter holding the mike. The man looked squarely at the lens, his expression grim.

"So there you have it, Todd," he opened dramatically; "as mentioned by Agent Shaw here, the crime scene is still in initial stages of investigation and as you can see there's a joint NYPD and Preventer force scouting the area," he gestured at the scene behind him and the camera turned to show the many police officers and Preventer agents working the scene as the reporter continued: "But from what they've gathered so far," the man stated sternly, "it looks like he's hit again."

The news anchor in the studio was asking something, but Duo stopped listening. He couldn't. His brain stopped working the second his eyes spotted a familiar figure walking through the crime scene: Heero. He was dressed in Preventer uniform and speaking to an NYPD officer while taking notes. The redheaded agent who was just interviewed joined him, also addressing the cop.

The footage changed to old archive footage of the case; cops scouting various crime scenes.

"They call him _the Redeemer_ ," a dramatic female voice narrated the item; "and he's been terrorizing New York City for over three months..."

Next appeared a picture of one of the victims, or so Duo assumed; it was a stills photo of a young Latin woman smiling at the camera.

"Jessica Gomez was found dead on September AC 204 and is assumed to be the first in a long line of victims," the female narrator continued; "Jessica left her husband and children one Tuesday morning and went missing for over—"

There was a knock on the door. Duo sighed and carefully maneuvered Tomás off of him so he could get up and answer the door. A young woman waited there; a tall and skinny Hispanic woman dressed in a black-satin robe that barely concealed her sexy black-lace lingerie. Her long brown hair was a mess and she was looking up at Duo with a pair of dark bleary eyes.

"Is he here?" she asked with a husky, tired voice.

"Yeah," Duo replied solemnly. "He's sleepin'."

The young woman peeked into the apartment, her eyes searching for her son. She spotted him lying on the sofa, covered by a blanket.

"He had dinner, watched some TV, showered and then bed," Duo informed her and she turned to him with guilty eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered; "Anything I can do to make it up to you for your troubles?" she asked carefully, shifting to a more suggestive pose. She was offering her services, obviously. Duo shook his head, sighing.

"How about you get some decent rest and come back when you ain't completely wasted," he offers harshly; "Tomás can sleep here tonight. Ain't no biggie," he added with a smile. She hesitated, but eventually took him up on his offer and left, nodding gratefully.

Duo locked the door behind her and walked back to the sofa. He tucked Tomás tightly under the blanket and picked up the remote. He looked back at the TV. The story about the killer in NYC was still playing. The narrator kept talking over footage of the case. Duo spotted Heero in quite a few of video clips, always with the redheaded agent. Duo couldn't tear his eyes off him. So engrossed in the images flickering on the screen, he barely noticed that his cellphone was ringing; the sound was coming from the kitchen.

He sighed. Only a snitch would be calling at this ungodly hour.  He stomped to the kitchen and snatched the phone off the counter, his eyes quickly catching the _'N/A'_ ID on the screen; typical of a snitch.

"Hang up on me one more time and I'm done talkin'," he hissed without greeting once he answered the call. He was sick of games. "Tell me what you want and make it snappy."

For a moment, there was only silence. Duo waited impatiently, pacing his small kitchen. He didn't have the nerve to follow up on his threat and hang up. Not if this was really about Jesse.

After a moment's pause, a male voice finally spoke: "I wasn't talking about Jesse," it said in the same eerie tone from before, referring to their last conversation.

Duo ceased pacing, his back tensing visibly. "Then who da fuck _were_ you talkin' 'bout?" he demanded angrily, glancing briefly at the sofa to make sure the kid was still sleeping; he was. Duo turned back around and leaned into his phone, whispering: "Da fuck do you want anyway!"

"Information," came the short, haughty, reply.

"Yeah, well, this cop ain't sellin' any!" he hissed darkly; "But I'm on the market if you got anythin' good to tell me. Maybe sumthin' 'bout Magic?" he added a careful suggestion, venturing a guess about the strange caller's motives.

"I am not in that line of business," the man replied calmly.

"Then da fuck you want with me! Who gave you this number? One of the snitches, right? Only they have it, so don't try to bullshit me!"

"Acquiring your number was not a problem."

"Then what da fuck _is_ your problem!"

"A dilemma," the man replied slickly; "An enigma only you can help me solve."

"Gee, can you be a little _less_ cryptic?"

Silence; he had given the wrong answer. Snitches were funny that way. You had to say the right thing or they bolted. Duo sighed. "Okay, okay, ask away," he said instead, playing into the man's game just so he could see where it might lead. "I'll do my best to answer."

"Good," the man approved. "You have to promise to be truthful."

"I never lie."

"Very well," the man sounded pleased. He paused briefly before raising his question: "You accessed his record today. Why?"

Duo's heart jumped into his throat. The man had to be talking about Heero's service record. He swallowed, hard, his hand shaking slightly. Could this be someone from Preventer's Cyber Security Division? Holy shit, were they onto him already? It was just a small hack... he didn't even look at anything fishy! But he had lingered for too long... that was stupid.

"I, uhm, I'm not sure what you mean..." he murmured in avoidance and resumed pacing the kitchen nervously.

"You said you never lie," the voice accused.

"It ain't no lie," Duo hurried to defend himself; "Clarify your question."

"Alright," the man agreed; "I'll rephrase: Why did you access Heero Yuy's service record today at ten thirty a.m. L2 time?"

Duo stopped pacing. He turned to look in the direction of the sofa, looking quietly at the slumbering child. He sighed and turned away, flopping tiredly into a kitchen chair.

"Because I was curious," he replied quietly, closing his eyes in shame. "I was curious to see what he's been doing since... since I've last seen him."

"Because you saw him on TV?"

Duo's head jerked up, his eyes snapping open, flashing with anger. "What?! Da fuck should I know! What are you – a God damn shrink?! Jesus! Look, if you're looking for a security risk – you ain't gonna find it! If you're who I think you are, then you already know who I am and you know _exactly_ why I was snooping around his file! I'm sure he's done the same with my record at some point, right? Right? So back off!"

Silence, and then:

"Why do you assume that he would look at your record?" the voice asked calmly.

The question had Duo stumped. "Huh?"

"Why would Heero Yuy bother checking up on you – an L2 cop?"

"Hey! I don't like what you're insinuating here! I'm as straight as an arrow – an honest to God cop!"

"You're an ex-terrorist and an ex-junkie who could barely make detective because he could not be fully trusted," the man corrected in a harsh and arrogant tone. "It would be very naïve of you to assume that no one has been keeping an eye on you over the years, Zero Two. But then you now assume that out of all people, it would be Zero One who checks up on you. Why?"

"What—? I—I don't know!"

"But you're certain that he has."

"Yeah, so? What's it to you anyway?"

"Why do you assume he cares? Why would he care about a man he hasn't been in contact with for almost eight years?"

The prick was touching way too many raw nerves. Duo burst: "What da fuck is this?! I wanna get some ID confirmation before I answer any more of your _stupid_ questions! Gimme your badge number or I'm hangin' up! I'm a Colony citizen! You have _no right_ to grill me over shit! This is _way off_ of your jurisdiction, dickhead, so give me your Preventer identification code – now!"

"Thank you for your cooperation," the voice said calmly; "I have what I need." The call was disconnected, replaced by a monotone dial tone.

Duo stared at his phone for a few good minutes, completely shaken. What the Hell was going on?

*     *     *

 [i] All of the information in Heero's file is based on the FBI's structure and honorary system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).


	2. NYC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

# 

* * *

 

A gray December morning dawned outside a Manhattan apartment window, shedding dim gray light into a small, tidy, living room. A figure lay on the sofa under the window, curled under a heavy blanket, legs folded upwards because the sofa was too short for its sleeping occupant. A head of short, rich chocolate-brown hair was peeking out of the thick cover; spiky bangs sprawled in a mess over the pillow, concealing a face nuzzled between the cushion and the sofa's backrest.

Somewhere in the small apartment, a door opened. Feet padded quietly across the carpet as another figure moved beyond the living room, crossing the apartment. A cupboard was opened, hinges creaking softly. There was some ceramic clanking, painfully loud in the morning stillness. The sleeping figure nuzzled its head closer into the sofa, burrowing deeper under the warm blanket.

A drawer was opened next, utensils rattling with a sharp metallic jingle. The racket was soon followed by the intolerable roar of the coffeemaker.

Prussian blue eyes snapped open, glaring irritably at the sofa's backrest. A muscular arm threw the blanket aside in one swift motion and the no-longer-sleeping sofa's occupant shot up to a sitting position, glaring daggers in the direction of the kitchen. Dressed in a sloppy white T-shirt wrinkled by a restless sleep, his messy bangs spiking out in every direction, the young man looked no more threatening than a petulant little boy.

"It's about time you woke up," an amused female voice berated teasingly. A young woman emerged from the kitchen, dressed in Preventer uniform and holding two steaming mugs of coffee. She was a petite redhead, also in her mid-twenties. Her pale features were freckled and a subtle touch of makeup emphasized her bright-green eyes. She settled on a comfy chair by the sofa and placed one mug on the coffee table. She leaned back comfortably, holding her own steaming beverage with both hands, keeping them warm.

"Another minute and I would have poured a bucket of cold water over your head," she joked with a pleasant smile; "Really, Heero, I didn't take you for such a sleepyhead."

The smile vanished from her lips as soon as she was faced with Heero's icy glare.

"I'm just saying..." she explained apologetically, "...it's getting harder for you to wake up in the morning. You should talk to Sloan."

"Having difficulties waking up in the morning hardly qualifies as something to report to Sloan," Heero retorted with a sleep-heavy voice and reached for his coffee. He settled back into the sofa, the blanket pooling over his lap, and drank quietly, avoiding her prying eyes. She sighed, frustrated.

They drank in silence. Heero finished his coffee first and got up, throwing the blanket aside and revealing his blue boxer shorts and slightly hairy legs. A long white scar ran along the entire length of his left knee and up to his kneecap; traces of traumatic injury. There was a slight, nearly unnoticeable limp in his stride as he marched towards the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Leaning over the sink, Heero splashed ice-cold water on his face. He rubbed his numb features repeatedly, moaning wretchedly into the wet palms of his hands. He straightened back up, his untrimmed bangs dripping icy droplets onto his face, and stared numbly at his reflection. There were dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and he was in definite need for a shave. He gaped at his unkempt image until his vision blurred and his eyelids threatened to flutter shut. He quickly caught himself and slapped his own cheeks, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the drowsiness fogging his mind. He leaned over the sink again, opening the faucet full-blast, clenched his eyes shut and shoved his head under the cold stream. When he finally pulled away, his hair was drenched and plastered flatly over his head, dripping and soaking his white T-shirt.

There were two toothbrushes by the sink: one red, one blue. He reached for the blue one and brushed his teeth furiously, a hard and angry expression on his sleep-deprived face.

*     *     *

Morning traffic was a bitch. As one would expect, crossing Manhattan was a slow and tedious task during rush hour. Seated in the driver's seat of a black SUV, dressed in Preventer uniform, Heero glared out the windshield at the endless column of cars up ahead. His fingers tapped on the wheel impatiently.

His redheaded companion sat in the passenger seat. She was looking at her visor-mirror, smearing pale-peach colored lipstick on her thin lips. Heero quickly shifted his glance back to the road, tearing his gaze away. He rubbed his stubble covered chin and released a quiet, irate, sigh.

"We could've beat traffic if you would have woken up on time," the young redheaded agent rebuked and snapped the visor shut.

"Duly noted," Heero grunted, clearly irked.

A cellphone started ringing a plain standard ringtone. It was Heero's car phone; a standard-issued device for all Preventer field-agents. Their calls were directed straight to it from their mobile devices while driving. The car phone kept on ringing, but Heero ignored it. His redheaded partner shifted her eyes down to look at the modern device hanging from the dashboard. The caller ID read: _'Her'_. She turned to Heero, scowling.

"Are you going to answer it?" she demanded, annoyed.

"No," he grunted and the young woman shook her head in silent admonishment. She leaned forward and reached to turn on the radio. Mindless chatter immediately filled the silence. The cellphone was still ringing. Heero's hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel in a subtle display of anger, and traffic across Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive continued to crawl by slowly...

*     *     *

Even on a cloudy day the view from the top floor of Preventer's NYC office was impressive. Rising 52 stories above ground level, standing on the top floor and looking out of any window, one could enjoy a clear view of Lower Manhattan and the surrounding neighborhoods.

Sitting tensely on a comfortable sofa in a small office overlooking the southeastern part of Manhattan, Heero gazed out a large window and stared numbly at the view, his eyes glued to a small visible patch of the East River; he could somehow make out the Brooklyn Bridge.

A middle-aged man sat in a tall leather armchair opposite of the sofa, his legs crossed. His deeply receding hairline was turning gray at the sideburns. His pleasant features were those of a well-mannered man, temperate yet calculated. He was dressed in a simple gray suit and a pair of elegant golden-framed eyeglasses rested over the bridge of his nose. He was holding a large yellow notepad in his lap and leaning his head against his arm, clearly bored as he doodled absentmindedly; the pad was already filled with endless scribbles.

A large black and white clock hung above the door behind the man. It was a quarter to twelve, noon. In the thick silence of the room, the ticking of the clock was heard clearly. The man in the suit turned around to look at it, noted the time, and heaved a long sigh. He turned back to face Heero. The young Preventer agent was still staring out the window, a numb expression on his unshaved face. His posture was rigid; stiff shoulders, arms stretched forward tensely and his clenched fists resting over his kneecaps.

"How goes your effort to quit smoking?" the man finally broke the heavy silence.

"Fine," Heero replied automatically, never turning to face away from the window.

"If you're using a nicotine patch, I have to know about it," the man elaborated; "I don't want it to interfere with your prescriptions."

"No patch," Heero muttered, his fists curling inwards even more, tightening angrily.

"Really?" the man marveled; "You're going on will power alone?"

"It's enough."

The lengthy silence returned, before the man raised another question:

"Any breakthroughs in the investigation?"

Heero finally turned away from the window, his eyes searching for the clock above the door. It was seven minutes to twelve.

"None so far," he replied quietly, casting his gaze back down.

The man nodded. He turned a new page on his notepad.

"Before you go," he began with a sigh; "I have to run the check-list by you, alright?"

Heero nodded his consent and straightened readily in his seat, fists clenched over his thighs.

The man's pen hovered over the notepad, ready to write Heero's answers down.

"Is everything alright between you and Agent Shaw?"

"We're professionals," was the immediate, typical, answer.

"I never said you weren't. Please don't avoid the question."

Heero sighed, shifting uncomfortably. He turned to look out the window again, rubbing the stubble on his chin with annoyance.

"We're good."

"Are you sure?" the man pressed and Heero's face hardened into an angry glare.

"Why?" he demanded, turning to glower at the man; "Has she said anything?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Heero scoffed and turned to gaze out the window again. "I'm not used to it, that's all."

"You know that this is strictly voluntary, right Heero? Just say the word and I will put an end to this madness. We'll have you back on Cyber in no time."

For a moment, Heero just stared at the view, contemplating the offer.

"That won't be necessary," he finally said, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

"You hesitated," the man pointed out.

Heero cleared his throat and turned to face the man, looking at him evenly. "I did not."

The man sighed and leaned back into his seat. "And are the new prescriptions helping at all?"

"I'm fine."

"No side-effect? Mood swings? Drowsiness? Disorientation?"

"None."

"Agitation?" He studied Heero's scowling face for a moment and smiled awkwardly. "Right," he mumbled, writing something down. "How about nausea?"

"No."

"How's your appetite?"

"The usual."

"Nightmares?"

"Nothing new."

"Anxiety?"

"...under control."

The man took some notes, nodding gravely. "It's almost Christmas..." he said carefully; "Any episodes?"

Heero shook his head firmly. "No."

"You seem tired. Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Her sofa is killing me."

"Is that a 'no'?"

"I make do."

"Are you sure that it's just the sofa?"

"It's too small. Hurts my leg."

The man huffed in amusement.

"Are you sticking with PT?" he asked while writing something down.

"Yes," Heero hurried to confirm; "A few more sessions and I'm done."

The man nodded in approval and then looked up, his eyes searching for Heero's who in return avoided his prying eyes by looking sideways.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" the man asked hopefully.

Heero's eyes shot up to look at the clock above the door. He watched the large hand move until it was pointing 12. He looked back down at the man.

"No," he declared and stood up, heading for the door. He stopped by the man's armchair and held his hand out, waiting to receive something. Heaving a frustrated sigh, the man reached for a smaller notepad lying on the table next to him. The title read: _'Confirmation of Attendance'_. He filled out Heero's name and the date and then stamped it with a green **FFD** stamp: fit for duty. He signed his name: _'Dr. G.D. Sloan'_ and handed Heero the note. The young agent accepted it quietly and turned to the door.

"Maybe next week we could do more than the check-list?" the doctor asked in a resigned tone, as though knowing it was useless.

"Maybe," Heero dismissed his request briskly and opened the door.

"I know it must be hard to change psychiatrists after so long," Sloan pressed on, stopping Heero at the doorway; "but I can be just as helpful as doctor Wright. If there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here."

Heero paused, just for a moment, and then nodded in acknowledgement. He stepped quietly out of the shrink's office and the door closed behind him with a final 'click'.

*     *     *

It was late afternoon. A light snow shower was coming down over Manhattan's Lower East Side as Heero parked his black SUV in front of a small convenience store. He raised the collar of his Preventer jacket up to shield his exposed neck from the icy wind and hurried inside. Mere minutes later, he was done with his grocery shopping and was standing in the checkout line. An old woman ahead of him was taking her sweet time, pulling an endless line of coupons out of her hefty purse. Heero let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. His leg was beginning to hurt. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and switched the shopping basket from his left hand to the right, trying to ease the pressure on his strained left leg.

He scanned the rows of display racks by the register; all packed with eye-catching goodies. His gaze shifted upwards to a locked glass case above the cash register; it was full of cigarette packs. He stared at it lengthily, his eyes fixated on a particular brand: _'Winston Blue'_. Once he realized he'd been staring, Heero hurried to look elsewhere, his eyes searching the candy display rack and finally settling on a box full of colorful Skittles packs. He snatched a green one off the shelf and tore it open, throwing a few colorful candies into his mouth.

A cellphone started ringing; Heero recognized the plain ringtone as his own. He pulled the sleek device out of his jacket's pocket. The word _'Her'_ displayed boldly on the screen. He sighed and shoved the cellphone back into his pocket; it was still ringing.

His eyes fell on the magazine display. One in particular caught his eye: it was Time Magazine and on the cover was a photo of a stylishly dressed young blonde and blue-eyed woman gazing fiercely at the camera. The title read: _'Person of the Year: Relena Darlian'_ and below a subtitle: _'Why Senator Darlian could be the next president of the ESUN'_.

Heero reached into his pocket, his finger searching for his ringing phone. He terminated the call and the device fell silent.

The old woman ahead of him finally paid and took off. Heero slammed his hand basket on the belt and quickly unloaded its meager content. As the cashier rang up his order hastily, his eyes drifted back to the cigarette display, seeking the pack of Winston Blue. Once he saw it, he looked away quickly and threw a few more Skittles into his mouth. After placing the open Skittles pack on the belt, he reached for his back pants' pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Among the many cards inside, was Heero's driver's license, tucked into the ID window. A faded passport-sized photo peeked underneath the license; its edges wrinkled and folded – an indication that the photo has been handled many times. Since it was inserted safely under the driver's license, the person in the photo could not be identified. If one looked closely enough, one would have perhaps been able to make out a hint of blonde locks of hair, but that was it.

As Heero pulled out his credit card from its slot, he noted that the photo was peeking out. He shoved it back under the driver's license, concealing it completely, and snapped the wallet shut.

*     *     *

It was a short ride home from the convenience store. Home was a plain and featureless apartment situated on the tenth floor of an old tenement building in an East Village neighborhood, just on the border with Manhattan's Lower East Side. It was a bare and tidy habitat, suitable of its owner, overlooking a busy street.

Heero set the grocery bag down on the kitchen counter and unpacked it systematically, sorting everything swiftly into place. He then took off his Preventer jacket, threw it on the small kitchen table and turned to unfasten the concealment holster he used to carry his compact service pistol.

He walked over to the refrigerator and placed the gun, still in its holster, on top. He nudged the sidearm forward until it was completely out of sight. He stood by the fridge for a moment longer, looking up wretchedly, before turning back to the worktop where he had left the empty grocery bag and next to it, the open Skittles pack. He yanked a drawer open; it was full of open Skittles packs in all shapes, sizes and colors of the rainbow. He threw the new pack inside and slammed the drawer shut.

His smartphone beeped, signaling an SMS has just been received. He pulled the device out of his Preventer jacket. His Prussian blue eyes shone solemnly as he read the message:

Eduardo's, 2000 hrs. Formal wear.

Heero threw the cellphone onto the kitchen table, sighing. He turned on his heels, about to leave the kitchen, but then regretted it and turned back to the Skittles drawer. He took a random pack out and shook a few candies into the palm of his hand. He threw them into his mouth and finally walked out of the kitchen, taking the Skittles packet with him.

*     *     *

As the dashboard clock display changed from 19:59 to 20:00, Heero stepped out of a NYC yellow taxi, dressed in semi-formal wear: black dress pants, a dark gray poplin shirt – no tie – and an elegant black jacket trimmed loosely enough around the waist to hide the weapon he carried underneath. The yellow cab drove off, leaving its passenger in front of a small Italian restaurant. He was a few steps from the front door when his cellphone started ringing. He pulled it out of his coat pocket just enough so he could see the caller ID – _'Her'_ – and shoved it back in, his finger pressing the button that would silence the call without hanging up. He entered the restaurant.

Agent Shaw was waiting for him in the small lobby, dressed for a night out: a classic black dress, fashionable high heels, elegant jewelry and her red hair gathered into a stylish up-do. She greeted him with a small smile as she approached and placed a delicate kiss on his clean shaven cheek.

"Heero," she welcomed him and he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Merida," he returned the greeting and offered her his arm. She wrapped hers around his and they followed the hostess inside as she guided them towards a table for two. The table was situated by a wall-to-wall window facing the busy street, exposing them to the eye of any passerby.

A waiter handed them menus and poured each a glass of red wine. Merida immediately reached for hers, while Heero studied the menu for minutes long, far longer than necessary.

"Just order what you had last time," she offered and sipped more wine. "It looked good."

"I don't like seafood," he retorted, eyes still on the menu.

"Then why did you order it?" she exclaimed.

"Because you recommended it."

Merida heaved a frustrated sigh. "Fine," she snapped; "choose something else, but just order already," she grumbled and emptied her glass of wine; "No one takes this long with the menu, and I'm sure you know it by-heart by now."

Heero lifted his gaze from the menu, glaring at her briefly, before looking back down. After another moment he sighed and snapped the menu shut, placing it on the table. He reached for his glass of red wine and took a small sip, staring ahead with a bland expression.

A waiter came to take their orders and they each ordered a different dish of pasta. More red wine was poured into their glasses. Merida raised her glass for a toast and Heero reciprocated reluctantly.

"Tell me one thing I don't know about you," she requested after two more sips; her glass was nearly empty.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Heero pointed out solemnly and placed his own glass down; it was still full.

"I know that you don't like seafood," she joked, but her playful expression fell the second she met his reprimanding glare. She sighed and leaned forward, shrugging helplessly.

"Then tell me anything. We have to get a conversation going if we want to keep up appearances," she reasoned, "and I'm sick of always talking about myself. You should share something too. That's what people do on dates."

"I don't date," Heero shared just to spite her.

She rolled her eyes. "I admit you're not exactly dream-date material, but we have to make do."

He sighed, pulling back into his seat. His finger circled the rim of his wine glass, his blue eyes staring at it numbly as he contemplated something to say.

"I've recently given up smoking," he finally decided to share.

Merida smiled, pleased. "Really? How long have you been at it?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Eight weeks," he said and then added quietly: "I could kill for a smoke right now."

She laughed. "That explains why you're so cranky all the time."

He looked up at her, frowning. "This isn't cranky," he muttered; "this is brooding."

She laughed some more. "So you _do_ have a sense of humor!" she called, amused. She leaned over the table and placed two hands at its center. "Lean forward," she whispered, smiling softly.

Still frowning, he asked: "Why?"

"Just do it."

Heero heaved another long sigh but did as she asked, leaning towards her and taking her hands in his, holding them over the table.

"See? You do know why," Merida remarked with a smug smile. "Looks like you've done this before."

"More times than I would have liked," Heero muttered, casting his gaze down uncomfortably.

"I thought you don't date," she taunted.

"I don't."

"So the _'Her'_ on your phone is... what? Your mother?"

He dismissed her guess with an offensive scoff.

"A jealous girlfriend?"

"Hardly."

"Ex-girlfriend then."

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Oh, that's a _resounding_ 'yes'!" Merida concluded with a proud smile. "And how does that work exactly?"

Heero pulled back, letting go of her hands. "It doesn't," he mumbled solemnly, looking out at the busy street; "Never did."

The waiter returned with their orders. Merida looked at him curiously for a moment before pulling back as well, clearing the table for their dishes. They ate in silence, each concentrated on the meal. Once she finished her meal, Merida continued to sip more wine, watching her partner quietly. He had barely touched his plate.

"You're not hungry?" she asked with concern.

"Not really."

"I couldn't stop eating when I first quit smoking," she shared good-heartedly. "Doesn't it make you feel like pigging out?"

"No."

"Lucky bastard. No strange cravings whatsoever?"

"Skittles," he said plainly and took a small sip of wine, avoiding her curious eyes.

"Skittles? Really? Candy?" she chuckled.

He nodded, putting his glass down. He traced its rim with his finger again. "Yeah," he sighed; "Can't get enough of them. Especially the sour ones."

She laughed. "Well, just so you know you risk making a woman feel like a fat pig if you don't eat anything on date."

"Noted."

The silence returned. A waiter came to clear their dishes and offered a desert menu. Heero turned to study it far too eagerly. Minutes ticked by slowly, until Merida heaved a sigh for the umpteenth time.

"There's got to be _something_ we can talk about," she mumbled helplessly. "We can't just eat and leave all under thirty minutes. What kind of date is that?"

"One we're eager to end," Heero whispered behind the shelter of the desert menu.

"Then you should look eager to take me home and have your way with me," she retorted tauntingly; "Otherwise, stop hiding behind the menu and get some conversation going."

Heero placed the menu down and turned to look at her, annoyed. "Fine," he grunted and after a short pause added: "You left your makeup case in my bathroom," accusingly.

Merida gaped at him, stunned for a moment before she got her wits back together. "I know," she replied calmly; "It saves me the trouble of carrying it around all the time. You can leave more things in my place if you want, I don't mind. Surely you need more than a T-shirt and toothbrush."

He thought about it for a moment, rubbing his clean-shaven chin absentmindedly. "A razor," he finally said, placing his hand back down, and she smiled.

"Good," she applauded; "Now we're getting somewhere," she muttered and reached her hands over the table again. Heero shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reached to hold her hands again. They looked at each other; his face stoic, her face struggling to sustain a smile.

*     *     *

It was early morning and dawn was breaking over Manhattan. A garbage truck beeped loudly as it drove down a crowded urban street and loaded trashcans into its filthy tank. A light drizzle descended from a cloudy sky, splashing water onto Heero's closed living room window. Inside, the TV was on, displaying senseless footage with no sound. The apartment was dead silent; only the hum of the refrigerator and the distant motor rumbling disturbed the early morning stillness. In the kitchen, the microwave oven clock displayed 05:10. Heero lay sleeping on his sofa, facing the open television set and curled under a wool blanket.

Somewhere further into the small apartment, a door opened quietly. Merida stepped out of the bedroom, dressed in the same attire she wore to Eduardo's the night before. Her red hair was undone and messy from sleep; black smudges of makeup under her eyes. She held her high heel shoes in her hand as she tip-toed quietly towards the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

In the living room, Heero stirred, moaning sleepily as he rolled over to face away from the quiet disturbance.

The bathroom door opened after a few short moments and Merida padded quietly towards the living room, headed for the door. She unlocked it, paused to put her shoes on and then left quietly, closing the door behind her.

On the sofa, Heero's eyes opened partially. He stared ahead groggily, listening to the silence. He heaved a sleepy sigh before nuzzling his face deeper into his pillow and drifting back to sleep.

*     *     *

A bright green pack of Skittles – extra sour – lay open besides a black keyboard. Sturdy fingers swept expertly over the keys before stopping and reaching into the open packet. Heero threw three colorful candies into his mouth and resumed typing, his gaze never leaving the computer monitor in front of him. The time and date display at the bottom of the desktop read 14:20, 12/17/204.

The young Preventer agent was sitting by his immaculately tidy desk on the eleventh floor of Preventer's NYC offices. His Preventer jacket hung from his chair's backrest, leaving him dressed in the standard-issue khaki dress-shirt and black tie. His desk, like all the others around him, was situated inside a small cubicle, all of which belonged to the local Criminal Investigative Division – Violent Crimes Section.

A small notepad also lay next to the keyboard. Heero was currently typing its written contents into a report on the CID's database. He filled out the necessary forms hastily, relying mostly on memory, though he did glance at the notepad every now and then. Just as he was reading a few lines he had jotted down at the latest crime scene, an object invaded his line of sight as it was pushed sliding towards him on his desk: a Starbucks paper coffee cup.

Heero looked up and was greeted by Shaw's familiar smile. She stood by his chair, looking quite pleased with herself.

"I didn't know whether to bring you lunch or breakfast, so I settled for coffee," she mocked goodheartedly, amused.

"Hn," he acknowledged the joke dismissively, but reached for the coffee cup nonetheless. He took a small sip, his eyes focused on the monitor.

"You left rather early," he commented coolly as he placed the cup down and resumed typing.

"You came in late," Shaw retorted vindictively.

Heero ignored her criticizing tone and kept typing, having nothing to say in his defense. He had arrived at around noon, to which he had no excuse other than the shameful fact that he could not drag himself out of bed (the sofa!) that morning.

"You didn't lock the door," he reprimanded her instead and she snorted dismissively.

"Unless you plan on giving me a key, _sweetie_..." she teased; "wake up and lock behind me next time."

When he gave no response, she heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Trouble waking up again?" she pushed the subject despite his obvious avoidance. "Did you tell Sloan yet?"

This time he stopped typing and turned his head up to glare up at her.

"Did you?" he accused and Merida's freckled face darkened with an infuriated scowl.

"Is that what you think?" she snapped heatedly; "Jesus!"

"You must have mentioned something when he asked about us," he insisted coldly.

"Yeah, well, only that you're a real prick! Jesus, Heero, if you can't trust me then we shouldn't be working together," she hissed angrily, obviously hurt. "Not on this case."

He frowned, thinking her words over, and then lowered his gaze down, subjugated.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly; "I was out of line."

Shaw sighed, shaking her head. "You're very cranky when you're tired, you know that?"

"I'm usually not," Heero mumbled and turned slowly back to his computer.

"That's why you should talk to Sloan," she persisted, almost pleadingly.

"I'm fine," he insisted and resumed typing. His words failed to convince her. She stood there for a moment more, studying him worriedly.

"No one is forcing you to do this," she said carefully after a while; "you know that, right?"

"I know."

"Surely we can find another agent who fits the profile. It doesn't have to be you."

"Yes, it does," he argued despairingly; eyes still on the screen, avoiding her prying green gaze. "I'm fine, really."

A long silence fell between them. Merida's eyes followed his fingers as they swept over the keyboard, typing away. When he stopped to grab his coffee, her gaze drifted across the tidy desk and stopped on a small stack of papers on its opposite side. One in particular stood out between the white sheets of paper. It was the edge of a magazine, only the corner sticking out. She recognized it easily by the trademark red frame: it was Time Magazine and judging by the hint of blonde hair belonging to the person on the cover, Merida deduced that it was the latest edition, featuring Senator Darlian on the cover of AC 204's person of the year issue. She turned back to Heero.

"Anyway, you're off the hook tonight," she declared with a sigh. "I got some things to do and we could both use a night off, right? Do us both a favor and get some proper sleep, will you? We need you to be alert."

"I will be," he promised, still typing.

Shaw nodded, clearly doubtful, and turned to leave. She took one step away from the desk when Heero finally turned his chair around to face her. He looked up at her and she studied his pale, almost gaunt, face worriedly as she waited for him so speak.

"Thanks for the coffee," he mumbled quietly, his intense blue eyes fixed directly on her, which made her feel awkward.

"Sure," she replied softly; "anything to keep you awake," she teased with a nervous smile and then finally left for her own station. Heero watched her settle at her desk a few cubicles down and then turned back to his computer. He picked up his notepad and skimmed over it, making sure he hadn't left anything out.

His cellphone, also lying by the keyboard, vibrated quietly, signaling an incoming call. The caller ID read: _'Her'_. Heero ignored it and set the notepad back down. His eyes shifted briefly to stare at the magazine tucked between his paperwork. Once his gaze rested on it, he quickly looked away, snatched the Skittles pack from the desk and threw a few colorful chewy candies into his mouth.

*     *     *

For the first night in a while, Heero finally lay in his own bed. He was lying on his back, dressed in a plain tank top undershirt and boxers, just staring numbly up at the ceiling. It was snowing outside, the temperature just below zero, yet inside it was so hot that he had left his bedroom window open to let in some cold fresh air to battle the suffocating warmth of the building's central heating. Rising ten floors above street level, his apartment building was the tallest in the block, allowing him a rare and clear view of a dark patch of skies. Even on a clear night one could not see the stars in the Manhattan sky. The city's glow tinted the black heavens with a murky orange halo and only close object could be seen glimmering in the city sky. Most of them were aircrafts, but if he strained his eyes hard enough, he could see the distant twinkle of the L1 cluster colonies. On some nights, L2 would peek behind the dark side of the moon.

There was nothing but a dark cloudy sky that night, so instead Heero studied the stains on the ceiling, listening to the constant clamor of urban nightlife drift in through the window: cars drive by, police sirens, people talking far too noisily on their cellphone as they walked down the street, a boombox playing loudly... the sounds of the city all mashed together into a familiar, comforting, haze. The soothing rhythm was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone.

The modern smartphone device was resting on his night table by the bed, wriggling left and right as it vibrated along with the persistent ringtone. The caller ID identified the caller as _'Her'_.

Heero ignored the phone without even turning to look at it. His blue eyes were fixed on a particularly large stain on his ceiling; one that resembled a large winged figure. He stared at it dazedly, allowing his cellphone to ring on and on until the sound blended with the voices coming in through the window, forming into a soft and constant murmur, like waves washing upon the sand. Carried upon those waves, his mind drifted back into another lifetime. His vision blurred, seeing beyond the winged stain and into the past, to the first time he saw himself fight while piloting Wing... To the night when he first saw himself through _Her_ eyes.

OZ attacked the boarding school he was staying at when he had first arrived to Earth. At the time, he had no idea that it was _Her_ they were after. Figuring that they were there for him and his Gundam, he hurried to retaliate. Students and faculty escaped the battle zone, fleeing the campus hysterically. The only one who stayed behind was _Her_. She stood there, in the middle of a burning battlefield, and observed the fight with a pair of calm blue eyes.

She was not intimidated by danger. She was not appalled by the slaughter taking place right before her eyes. The enemy suits were inferior to his and he had crushed them like the insects that they were, right in front of _Her_ watchful eyes. She stood there and watched him crush a whole squadron of mobile suits. Her eyes were looking at Wing— at _him_ – in awe. Not trepidation, horror or condemnation – but wonder. Looking at her through the monitor, he felt shaken by what he saw, by the way she saw him... by the way she forced him to see himself. He didn't know what to do with that distressing feeling. Her eyes looked straight at him as though seeing through tons of Gundanium and steel. She would not avert her eyes, forcing him to face himself.

He hated her for it. He hated her because she was fearless, fierce... undeniable, and that scared him. She should have died for it... but when one of the school towers crumbled and nearly crushed her he didn't think twice and flung Wing's massive arm forward, shielding her from the falling debris. The fear had forced him to save her life. He couldn't believe how scared he was while waiting for the smoke to clear so he could see if he had managed to get to her in time. He could see her stunned features on the monitor. She couldn't believe he had protected her, and neither could he.

It didn't make any sense. It went against everything he'd been taught. She knew too much, she had to be eliminated. Why couldn't he do it? Frustrated, he had whirled Wing around and obliterated the last remaining enemy suit with a brutal, fatal blow. She had watched, never averting her eyes. She stood up firmly, not the slightest bit shaken by her near-death experience, and watched. It was a massacre, but she never wavered, never walked away. _Never._

He had tried to fix his mistake; he tried to kill her by thrusting Wing's mighty arm and hand-shield her way, but stopped himself and diverted the blow in the last second, missing her by a few inches. She didn't even flinch. She didn't. Even. _Flinch!_ She just kept looking at him with those eyes... those valiant blue eyes... eyes that never looked away, never judged, never looked down upon him in disgust. Those clear-blue eyes that could see straight through him... they were why he couldn't kill her; not then and not later when she became a tangible threat to the war effort.

Heero blinked, coming out of his daze, and his hand flung sideways towards the phone. He snatched it off the night table and finally took the call. Inhaling sharply, he pressed the phone to his ear and grunted a hoarse:

"Yeah?"

There was a hesitant pause, and then: "You've been avoiding my calls," a quiet female voice stated in a calm, yet clearly accusing, tone.

"Been busy," he muttered in a croaky whisper as he turned to lie on his side, facing the window. He stared out at the dark cloudy sky and waited for the woman to respond.

"I need to know if you're going to be here this year," she finally said.

Heero gazed dully out the window. He stared unblinkingly at the sky until his vision blurred.

"Heero?" she called his name softly, almost pleadingly. "Please come."

His fist tightened around the phone. He inhaled a quivery breath, struggling to speak in a steady tone, but failing:

"I... I don't know," he mumbled weakly, "there's... there's this case and..." He sighed, closing his eyes sadly. "Now is not a good time. Maybe next month..." he added solemnly and allowed his voice to fade into an awkward silence.

"Heero," she reproached gently, "You're going to miss her birthday."

He swallowed, hard, his eyes still closed.

"I... I can't go to DC right now," he murmured shakily, his voice trembling, on the verge of tears. "It's this case I'm... It's... it's important."

"You don't have to stay for the celebrations," she insisted; her tone clearly imploring him to heed her request. "We'll do something small, just us. You'll be out of here before the whole mess even begins. Before Christmas... before everything..."

"I'm sorry," he almost wailed, curling into himself, tears squeezing out of his clenched eyes. "I... I can't. It's... I'm... I'm sorry."

A suffocating silence stretched for an awkward moment, before the woman sighed.

"I understand," she said quietly; "Maybe next year."

"Maybe," he promised feebly and the silence resumed, long and tense. He sniffled quietly and finally opened his eyes. His gaze sought out the winged stain on the ceiling and once he found it, he stared at it quietly.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked after a while.

"Yeah," he rasped softly, his gaze on the winged stain; "You?"

She paused before saying: "Keeping busy."

He nodded, accepting her words silently, and continued to stare numbly at the stain, the cellphone pressed to his ear. After another lengthy silence, she spoke again:

"Listen, uhm, I might be in New York next month... maybe we could..."

"Yeah..." he hurried to reply; "maybe."

More silence, stretching longer than before. A car drove down the street, tires screeching as the driver hit the brakes, probably slipping on the icy road. The vehicle drove off and the silence resumed.

"Are you sure you're doing okay?" she asked carefully, concern in her voice; "I saw you on TV... are you on full active field duty again?"

"Yeah, yeah, I uh... yeah," he mumbled, closing his eyes again as he struggled with his words. "It's okay," he assured her after a while; "I'm good." He paused for a moment more and then added: "Even gave up smoking... for good this time."

"Really?" she sounded pleased, or surprised, it was hard to tell; "That's good to hear. Congratulations. It'll do you good."

"Yeah, I suppose."

His husky words were followed by an even longer silence.

"Well, listen... I have to go. I... I'll call you if I'm around, okay? I would really like to see you in person. It's been too long... Will you answer my call?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Good... thanks," she whispered in relief; "Well, goodbye, Heero. Take care. I'll see you after the New Year."

"Sure," he approved quietly; "see you then."

He hung up and turned to lie on his back. He lowered the smartphone down, though it remained clutched in his fist, and resumed staring at the ceiling with numb blue eyes. He soughed out the winged stain and gawked at it dazedly for minutes long. Gradually, his eyes watered. He blinked and his tears spilled, sliding slowly down his temples and dripping onto the white sheets. His lips trembled, struggling to hold back burning sobs. One nearly escaped his throat, but then his cellphone suddenly beeped, vibrating in his fist, and his breath hitched with surprise.

He raised the phone back to his face slowly, expecting to see a message from Agent Shaw waiting, but the sender was marked as N/A. Heero frowned and sat up, wiping away the wet traces from his cheeks. He opened the message. His bleary eyes widened in surprise and disbelief.

He was looking at a screen-capture image of some kind of an official document. A familiar face was staring directly at him from a miniature passport photo at top right corner of the screen. It was a young man, dressed in blue Colony police uniform, a dark and grim expression on his heart-shaped face. Heero's shoulders tensed. He recognized the file; he had seen it before. Someone has just sent him a screen-capture of Duo's L2PD's service record. Another message entered the open thread:Channel 6. 20 secs.

He stared dumbly at the words for five seconds more, before shooting out of bed and running towards the living room. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the TV, flipping frantically through the channels until he found channel 6. A newscast was playing and a sullen-looking news anchorman was speaking to the viewers:

"And on foreign news, a joint effort between the ESUN's DEA and local L2 police to stop the illegal substance exports to Earth has taken a tragic turn today on L2-V08744, where a joint taskforce's attempt to raid one of the colony's main drug-lairs and suspected drug lab has ended in a fierce fire fight."

The footage switched from the studio to live feed from L2. It was nighttime. The news cameras were pointed at a hectic scene full of police cars and emergency vehicles parked around a burning structure surrounded by a tall wire fence. Cops, firefighters and paramedics rushed in and out of the chaotic scene. It was a mess of blurry faces, lights and images; body bags, gurneys, fire and smoke. Armed men with shell-shocked, blood-streaked faces were ushered away from the prying media.

Heero stood rooted to his spot in front of the television, the remote in one hand and the cellphone in the other, his eyes searching the screen anxiously for a familiar face.

"Over a dozen casualties have been reported so far," the news anchorman continued; "Channel 6 sources report that at least three DEA agents, all ESUN citizens, and five local policemen, are assumed dead. We will have more details about that in a few hours."

Heero's hands began to shake. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he his eyes scanned the hazy images anxiously.

The cellphone in his hand beeped again. It was another message.

He lowered his head down slowly, staring at the smartphone screen with dazed blue eyes. The last conversation thread was still open. A new text has just entered: Would you like to know their names?

This time, there was a reply number. Judging by the arbitrary digits, it was a disposable cellphone – untraceable.

Heero switched his anxious gaze between the TV and the phone time and time again. More footage of body bags was currently showing. He looked back at the phone and with trembling fingers typed back: yes. Send.

A moment later a reply came in: five names, none of them Duo's. Heero gulped a shaky breath of air. His breathing became irregular, sharp and panicky. His hand shook so hard that he dropped the remote. The horrific sounds of his distressed breathing drowned the words coming from the TV as the newscast continued playing.

Another SMS soon followed: Relieved?

With a loud, shuddering gasp, Heero collapsed against the nearby sofa. He flung his hands forward to stop his decent, leaning heavily against the armrest. He folded his head in, chin against chest, and struggled to breathe. He was still clutching the phone in his fist, his fingers clenching and unclenching around it with each quivery gasp he took. Sweat broke on his face. He closed his eyes, his gaping mouth fighting for air. His limbs shook; arms and legs no longer able to support him. His chest felt as though about to explode. He gasped, a short and painful intake of air, fists flying up to his chest. Finally, he collapsed to the floor, curling into himself as he rolled over, groaning agonizingly. His trembling fingers fumbled clumsily with the phone, searching the contacts list for a person to come to his aid.

*     *     *

 

 

 


	3. UFD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Lower Manhattan Hospital's emergency room was the single and therefore most hectic ER in the downtown area. Close to 35,000 patients passed through it emergency department annually, brought in by countless ambulance transports rushing in one after the other. Its hallways were constantly bustling with human traffic; a sea of people flooding the waiting rooms and corridors no matter the time of day. The ER's waiting room was the fullest of them all. The sick and injured waited impatiently to be admitted, while nervous family members paced the crowded room as they waited for an update about their loved ones.

Four vending machines provided snacks, sandwiches and beverages to the many occupants of the ER's waiting room. Preventer agent Merida Shaw, currently off duty and henceforth dressed casually, stood before one such machine, staring numbly at its colorful content. Her red hair was a mess, after being gathered hastily into a high ponytail that was barely holding together. Long red bangs framed her pale unmade-up face, curling towards her freckled cheeks. She was dressed sloppily in black sweats and a tattered purple ski coat – evidence of how she had rushed out of her apartment in a hurry. Completely oblivious to the clamor and commotion raging behind her, she stood still for minutes long, gawking dazedly at a green packet of Skittles inside the machine.

Echoes of the phone call that brought her to the ER late at night still resonated in her ears. The panic, distress and desperation whispered breathlessly through her cellphone played repeatedly in her head. She hasn't known her new partner for very long, only a few weeks now, but she never expected this from the desolate, composed and guarded person she had gotten to know thus far. It was shocking... an utter surprise. She hadn't thought that he trusted her enough to call for her aid, and maybe that was why she was unable to get his distraught words out of her head:

 _'Merida...'_ he had rasped, panting heavily; _'I— I can't—'_ he inhaled a sharp gulp of air; he couldn't breathe. _'_ — _can't—! Please!'_

He was in no condition to give a 911 operator any details and no time to wait until they located his call. He had no one else to call, so he called her. She didn't think twice, grabbed her coat, wallet and keys, jumped into her black SUV and raced down FDR Drive from Midtown to East Village in record time. She was at his place in less than ten minutes. The door was locked and he wasn't answering. She kicked the damn thing open and rushed inside. She found him lying on his living room floor in his under garments, struggling for air, his right arm clenched around his left. The TV was on; some newscast was playing, but she didn't pay it much attention. She hurried to get him to the hospital straight away.

"Are ya gonna get somethin' or are ya just gonna stand in my way?" an irate and gruff male voice muttered behind her. Merida blinked, torn out of her daze, and turned to look over her shoulder. An old man was waiting behind her, scowling irately.

"Uh, sorry," she mumbled and turned back to the machine. It was the only one to carry salty snacks and candy. She pulled a few coins out of her coat pocket, inserted them into a slot and punched in the necessary code. The machine hummed as it came to life and a green pack of Skittles was dispensed into the compartment at the bottom. She hurried to take it and move away.

She found an empty seat at the back of the waiting room and settled there. For a moment she stared at the colorful Skittles packet before shoving it into her coat pocket, having no real interest in eating it. She didn't even know why she bought it. As she reached into her pocket, her fingers brushed by another object already tucked in there. She pulled it out; it was Heero's smartphone. She had found it lying on the floor next to him where he had collapsed. For a dull moment, she stared at the sleek device. A cellular phone was an individual's shrine; sacred. Sifting through its contents was a blunt invasion of privacy, and yet before she knew what she was doing her finger had already slid across the screen to unlock the device. A second later she was staring at the default wallpaper and application icons on the main screen.

Feeling the need to hide her wrongdoing, Merida hunched forward and held the smartphone close. It was stupid, really, because as far as anyone around was concerned (if at all) – the device was hers. Only it wasn't. It was Heero's and examining it was wrong, no matter how curious she was about her mysterious new partner.

Then why was she suddenly looking at his call log?

Because she was stupid, that's why. She was stupid, curious and dying for a peek behind the stoic enigmatic mask worn by the man she was forced to work with. So she looked. What harm could it possibly do?

The latest call was an outgoing call – to her. That she already knew. The previous one was an incoming call – from _'Her'_. She clicked on the contact name and a secondary log opened, registering all the calls received from _Her_. The last one was at 21:13 that night and it had lasted close to seven minutes. Next were over ten unanswered incoming calls. The log didn't register any other calls Heero had accepted from _Her_ ; either there were none, or they were too long ago. There were no outgoing calls either, meaning she was always the one to call him.

Merida could only speculate about the identity of the mysterious lady known merely as _'Her'_. She wondered if Heero's episode had anything to do with finally taking her call. They spoke for quite a while, at least in Heero's terms, so perhaps there was a connection? What could they have possibly spoken about that caused him to collapse?

Curious, she accessed his contact list. All of the numbers were clearly work-related. The only name that stood out as an exception was _'Her'_. She entered the photo gallery next, hoping to find some clues there.

There were only two folders stored under the gallery: one for camera photos and the other for downloaded images. She entered the camera folder first. Not surprisingly, it was filled with images he had taken at various crime scenes. There were no personal photos of any kind.

Next she entered the Downloads folder, where images received via text messages, emails and chat apps were stored. She was surprised to see over two dozen photos inside, dating as far as AC 201. They were all photos of a little girl; an adorable blue-eyed and dishwater-blonde haired toddler, her hair leaning more towards light-brown than blonde. She was somewhere between 18 to 24 months old, depending on when the photo was taken. She was a sweet little thing, an endearing vision in pink, always smiling at the camera with a pair of rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. In one photo she was dressed in cozy winter attire, standing in a green park and holding a red balloon; in another photo she was seated on a toddler's chair in a café, dressed in a colorful summer dress and eating chocolate ice cream, her chubby face smudged with chocolate; another photo was of the little girl standing on the rim of a large stone fountain, throwing breadcrumbs at pigeons. The photos went on and on, capturing images of the little girl in all sort of everyday activities. Judging by the architecture in the background, the photos were taken somewhere in Western Europe.

The last few photos, however, were taken in the US, in Washington DC to be exact. Merida recognized various monuments in the background, like the Capitol Hill Parks or the Lincoln Memorial. The last two photos were taken during Christmas. The girl was posing in front of the famous National Christmas Tree at the White House. The next photo was taken at the Pathway of Peace surrounding the area. The little girl was standing in front of a small Christmas tree and holding a colorful ornament in her hand, grinning merrily at the camera. The next photo was taken in front of the famous green-domed National Museum of Natural History building. The small toddler was standing next to one of the massive Corinthian columns leading to the entrance, dressed in a thick pink winter coat and her long dishwater-blonde hair braided into two adorable pigtails. Heero was kneeling before her, tying her shoes. He was dressed casually, out of uniform, his head bowed down low as his fingers knotted a shoelace. The little girl was looking down at him shyly. It seemed that the photo was taken without him being aware of it. The photo was dated December-24-202; the girl couldn't have been more than three years old.

Merida switched to the next picture. This time, it wasn't of the little girl. It wasn't a photo at all, but some kind of document. It looked like a screen-capture image of some official file that was downloaded into the folder. She zoomed in a bit so she could read the writing. It was a police service record and it belonged to someone named Duo Maxwell, an L2PD cop. He was a young man, she assumed around Heero's age, meaning he was a couple of years younger than her. His long light-brown hair was gathered backwards. His handsome features were round, yet harsh. A soft smile seemed like it would suit his face better, though his expression was far too grim to support that claim. He was scowling at the camera with a pair of angry cobalt eyes, looking quite daunting. He reminded her of Heero.

She frowned, confused by the strange image, and flipped to the next image. There were none; she was back to the first photo of the little girl standing in the park with a balloon. She switched back to the last photo, the one of the L2PD file. It was dated December-17-204; it was received sometime today.

"Agent Shaw?" a deep male voice called her name and Merida looked up. A middle-aged doctor wearing a white lab coat and golden eyeglasses was standing by the vending machines, scanning the crowded room in search of her. She stood up, tucking Heero's cellphone into her coat pocket.

"I'm here," she said as she approached him. They met halfway.

"How is he?" she asked.

The doctor scanned the room once more before turning to face her. "Are you here alone?"

"Yes," she confirmed; "No family, just me. We work together."

The man nodded and sighed tiredly. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses clean with his white coat.

"Well, his blood work came back OK," he explained wearily; "He suffered an acute anxiety attack, not a cardiac event. The symptoms are similar, but the prognosis is not the same."

She nodded, relieved. "So he's alright?"

"Given his medical history, we'll keep him overnight for observation. We'll run another EKG in the morning just to be safe and if everything turns out okay he'll be out of here by noon."

"Can I see him?"

"We gave him a sedative, so he's deep asleep. You can come by in the morning."

"I'll be quick," she promised and reached into her pocket to pull out Heero's phone. "I just have to leave him this," she explained with an apologetic smile.

The doctor nodded. "Internal Ward, room 312 – third floor. Be quick," he requested and turned to leave. She nodded in thanks and went to search for the room.

It was a single room, affordable thanks to Preventer's excellent health plan. The small room was dark, only a small dim light illuminating the hospital bed in its center, where Heero lay on his back, covered by a blanket. He was sleeping.

Merida entered quietly and closed the door behind her. She hesitated before approaching the bed, feeling awkward. She really didn't know him well enough to be paying a visit to his hospital room while he was unconscious, but he was her partner and she had some level of responsibility towards him whether she wanted it or not.

She stepped closer to the bed, threading carefully as though stepping on holy ground. She pulled his smartphone from her coat pocket, along with the green pack of Skittles, and placed them on the plastic chest of drawers by the bed. For a moment she stood there and studied his blank face, slack and oblivious in slumber. He seemed so much younger compared to when he was awake. His severe temperament and tough exterior made it easy to forget that he was only in his mid-twenties. A young man pushing twenty-five shouldn't be nearly as daunting as he was, yet it wasn't uncommon to meet such young men these days. The war had left many scars, some still visible in the eyes of the young man and women who lived through it. A quick calculation suggested that Heero would have been far too young to have taken part in the fighting; he was only in his teens when the war ended. Looking wretchedly at his lifeless expression, she wondered what else could have caused him so much grief. What horrors hid in his past? What secrets tormented his soul and hardened his heart? What had hurt him so badly that he could not handle a woman's phone call?

Merida sighed and shook her head, trying not to think about it. Whatever it was, she felt sorry for him. And with that grim thought, she turned on her heels and left the room.

*     *     *

The next morning, Heero lay half naked in his hospital bed, a blanket covering him up to his navel as he stared dully at the ceiling. A nurse was leaning over him, connecting electrodes across the center of his well-toned and scar-ridden chest. She then turned to activate an EKG monitor standing on a portable cart by the bed. The machine came to life with a low beep and immediately started registering a pulse. A needle moved rapidly up and down a roll of graph paper, printing a stable waveform. Once she confirmed that the electric activity was registering correctly on paper, the nurse turned to Heero.

"I'll be back in forty five minutes," she promised; "Try to relax," she added with half a smile and then left the room.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Heero leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He turned to face away from the door and tried to get some sleep. He had just dozed off when the sound of the door clicking shut again registered somewhere along the boundary of a dream. He gasped quietly, startled awake, and turned his head towards the sound. His mouth opened slightly agape with surprise when his gaze fell upon the young woman who had just entered his room.

"Relena?" he whispered her name in a raspy, tired, voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm still listed as your emergency contact," the young blonde woman explained quietly as she approached his bed. She was dressed in an elegant black business suit hugging her feminine curves; her long blonde hair was gathered up in a tight and stylish high ponytail and her face was made-up immaculately. She was holding a small bag in her hand, which she placed on the plastic chest of drawers by the bed. There was an open green packet of Skittles resting on the chest, along with a smartphone device.

"The nurse mentioned that you're going to need some clothes," she explained as she dragged a plastic chair forward; "I stopped by your place, got you some things," she elaborated and settled into the chair. She straightened a few wrinkles on her black dress pants, ironing the fabric down by brushing her French-manicured hand over her thigh. "I told the landlord to hurry up and fix your door," she added, looking up again.

"Thanks," Heero whispered blearily and she nodded in acknowledgment. A long and awkward silence fell. Heero turned to study the white ceiling. Relena gazed numbly at his bare torso. There was much scar tissue there; traces of an old gunshot wound on his right upper arm, a jagged scar running across the left side of his chest, sneaking up to his armpit and a long, neat surgical scar splicing his torso from his throat, down to his chest and across his muscular abdomen. Her eyes focused on the scar, gawking at it unblinkingly until they watered.

The EKG needle continued moving slowly up and down the roll of graph paper, printing a black waveform. Up and down... up and down... in a steady rhythm. The long sheet of paper dangled from the machine, piling on the floor in a twisted heap.

Finally, Relena spoke again:

"I'm just gonna go ahead and say it:" she declared with a disheartened sigh; "You're not ready for this."

Heero heaved a sigh of his own. "It's been two years..." he murmured weakly and turned to stare at the opposite wall where a window offered a limited view of the city; "I have to get back out there _some_ time."

"No, you don't," she insisted firmly. "Not like this, not anymore. You've done enough... been through more than enough... why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

" _You_ never slowed down..." he accused spitefully, turning his head back around to glare at her viciously; "What's that I read about you planning to run for ESUN presidency?"

Relena cast her gaze down, avoiding his harsh blue eyes. "The media puts words in my mouth all the time," she explained quietly; "I said that I might think about it one day, that's all." She looked back up, her own eyes shining fiercely. "I don't have to make any apologies for my career," she hissed; "Not to you... not anymore. We're talking about you now," she hurried to change the subject; "I thought you were done."

He stared at her blankly for a moment before blinking and then lowering his eyes. "I'm fine," he mumbled dejectedly.

"I can see that," she scoffed; "Heero – you are _not_ fine. You'll never be fine..." she murmured more softly, sighing; "and that's okay. I know you're trying, but why do you insist on choosing the hard way? You have nothing to prove. Stop punishing yourself. Just... just stop it. It's pointless. It doesn't atone for anything... you're only hurting yourself."

The monitor beeped, signaling a spiking increase in Heero's heart rate. The EKG needle moved faster, registering his speedy pulse. He raised his head back up, his eyes searching for hers. He met her unforgiving gaze with a pair of abashed Prussian blue eyes.

"Lena, please," he whispered miserably; "they won't let me out of here if the EKG shows any irregularities. Can't this wait?"

"I'm leaving back for DC in a few hours," she hurried to say; meaning that it couldn't. This was just a courtesy call after all. Heero nodded in understanding and turned away, back to staring numbly at the opposite wall where the window overlooked a busy Lower Manhattan street.

"Why couldn't you have stayed in Cyber?" Relena asked after a momentary pause. "You can make a contribution there too. There are other ways you can make a difference. It doesn't always have to be this dangerous. You should have taken the psych-pension they offered you and got out while you still could. Most people can only _dream_ of hitting the jackpot with that pension."

"Retired at twenty-three?" Heero exclaimed offensively; "I don't think so."

"Considering you got started before you were even _ten_ – I don't see how that's so unreasonable," she argued; "You should cut your losses and get out while you still have your whole life ahead of you. Surely there are other career paths you can pursue."

"I am not discussing this with you again," he grunted irately.

"Heero—"

"They need me on this case."

"Why? Why you? What the Hell do you have to do with any of it? You don't have the training to be investigating violent crimes! What's going on? I'm sure that there are plenty of talented Preventer agents out there who are far more qualified for this job! Jesus, after all that happened they're still gonna—"

"Lena," he warned, turning to scowl at her angrily; "That's enough," he warned coldly; "I am not going to discuss this with you."

She leaned back into her chair, shoulder slumping resignedly.

"Is it true what they say? Is it some kind of terrorist activity rather than serial murders?"

Heero didn't answer.

"There's a connection between the victims, isn't there?" she speculated warily; "Something that got Preventer's attention... some kind of threat to national security?"

"I can't say."

She nodded in understanding. Her eyes shifted towards the growing pile of graph paper forming at the foot of the EKG machine. Looking up, she followed the needle as it moved across the roll of paper. She sighed and turned back to look at Heero. He was staring broodingly at the ceiling again.

"You know they will pull you off this case after tonight," she stated quietly; "You're still on probation, aren't you?"

"They wouldn't dare."

"Why not?"

Heero turned to the window and stared at it dazedly for a moment.

"It's too late now..." he mumbled and Relena's face paled with concern.

"Are you in danger?" she whispered dreadfully.

"I'm... I'm fine," he assured her, never turning away from the window. "It... it'll be fine."

"You don't sound too sure."

Heero closed his eyes sadly. Relena watched him mutely for a moment, her blue eyes shining worriedly. She stood up and stepped closer to his bed, taking his limp hand in hers. She caressed his hair gently with her other hand, brushing her fingers through his messy bangs. He turned to her, opening a pair of turbulent blue eyes only she knew how to read. She smiled wistfully.

"Come back with me to DC," she whispered; "Just for a while. Take some time off. Not just for her birthday... Stay until Christmas is over."

For a moment he was quiet, thinking, his eyes shining sorrowfully. "I can't," he rasped and looked away uneasily. He felt her hand tighten around his.

"Then I'll stay here," she declared stubbornly and he shook his head.

"No you won't," he mumbled and she looked away uncomfortably. She studied the view out the window, her eyes scanning the tall building on the other side of the street. A couple was arguing heatedly on a small fire-escape balcony at the side of the building. She sighed and cast her gaze down to the bed.

"You're the one who left," she reminded him.

"I know."

She looked up, studying his pale face in concern.

"Promise me we'll meet next month, like we planned," she implored him and he nodded, fixing his eyes on hers.

"Sure," he whispered.

She squeezing his hand tighter, accepting his comforting lie. She leaned down to kiss his forehead softly and pulled away slowly.

"Be safe," she whispered, still holding his hand. He responded with a slight nod of his head, avoiding her eyes for he was unable to make any promises. She smiled forlornly, recognizing the familiar look on his face; the resigned expression that said that he didn't think he was going to make it and there was nothing she could do about it. She had seen that look before... so many times. There was nothing more she could say... nothing except:

"Goodbye Heero," she whispered, choking on tears, and left the room.

*     *     *

It was high noon and a cloudy gray sky stretched over New York City. A heavy downpour had left the enormous runways at JFK Airport slick with rain and riddled with puddles. Massive airplanes rolled up and down the runways to and from the large and modern terminals. In an isolated corner of the airport, adjacent to the secluded VIP terminal, stood a small private jet plane, a staircase connected to its open door. Two black SUVs were parked next to the plane and it was surrounded by Secret Service agents armed and ready for anything. Relena was just stepping up to the plane when another black SUV approached, rushing down the runway at an alarming speed.

Her bodyguards already had their guns drawn and were prepared to leap at any attacker, but she knew that it won't be necessary. She watched calmly as the SUV came to an immediate stop next to her private jet. The door opened and the driver stepped out: a young man in black Preventer uniform – Heero. The wind tousled his messy brown hair wildly as he stood there for a second, looking at her with a pair of penetrating blue eyes. He then leaned back into the car, took out a small plastic bag, left the door wide open and started making his way towards the staircase leading up to plane.

She signaled her bodyguards to stand down and stepped off the staircase, threading carefully on her high heels. She met Heero halfway and they stood face to face, looking at each other. Even on high heels she was still a couple of inches shorter than him. He had grown much taller since she had first met him; sometimes she could hardly recognize him as the same person she once fell in love with. Being perhaps the only one who knew him well enough, she was painfully aware of just how much he had changed over the years. There was hurt in his eyes unlike ever before... a kind of darkness not even the war had managed to drill into his heart. She looked up, leveling her gaze with his, trying to keep strong in face anguish only she knew so intimately.

"They discharged you," she observed quietly and he nodded.

"EKG came out fine."

"Obviously it's not your heart they should examine – but your _head_ ," she snarled a bit more nastily than she should have and he responded with a resentful glare. Relena exhaled a frustrated sigh and an awkward silence fell. She looked down at the colorful plastic bag he was holding; the bag bore an 'FAO Schwartz' logo on it. Heero caught her staring and shifted the colorful bag from one hand to the other uneasily. Finally, he inhaled a sharp breath and opened the bag. It rustled as he reached inside and pulled out a pink bunny doll wrapped in a big red bow.

"Could you... give this to her?" he asked timidly and handed her the gift, unable to look her in the eye. "Tell her... tell her it's from me."

She reached for the bunny and carefully accepted his modest gift. Her eyes shone with tears as she looked up at his face again.

"Why don't you deliver it yourself?" she asked in a trembling voice; "Fly with me to DC," she begged; "I'll have you back here by nightfall."

The darkness in his eyes stirred awake, covering the ocean of blue with a glistening sheet of agonized tears.

"I can't," he said plainly, his voice cracking. He shoved both hands into his jacket pockets and turned his head sideways in a useless effort to conceal his distress. "It's... when it's all at once I... I can't," he mumbled, staring sadly at the NYC skyline in the near horizon. "I'm sorry."

Relena nodded mutely in understanding; tears were sliding down her made-up cheeks, smearing her mascara. She studied his handsome profile and waited patiently for Heero to compose himself.

"Maybe next year," he finally said and turned to face her again, his expression calm once more.

"Sure," she agreed weakly and wiped away her tears; "Next year."

He turned back to his car.

"Heero," she called after him and he stopped, turning back around. She hesitated for a moment before taking a step forward, smiling sadly, and reached for his hand.

"Take care, alright?"

He stared at her stoically, waiting as though he knew she wanted to say something more, and when she didn't he nodded, accepting her request silently. She let go of his hand, her touch lingering for a second more before drawing back completely. He walked back to his car. Relena watched him enter the black SUV and close the door behind him. She looked down at the little pink bunny in her hands. It looked back at her with big black eyes. A forlorn smile tugged at her lips. She inhaled a deep breath, composing herself, and turned on her heels to walk back to her plane.

As Relena's private jet rolled away slowly, Heero's SUV remained parked on the runway. He sat inside, the engine running, and reached to open the glove compartment. A few items fell onto the door as it opened: an open green packet of Skittles, a pack of Winston Blue cigarettes and an orange prescription bottle. He stared at the three items while the plane took off into the air, as seen through the windshield

Heero snatched the prescription bottle and twisted the cap open hastily. He shook a small white pill into his hand and shoved it into his mouth, titling his head back as the swallowed it dry in a quick gulp. He then threw the bottle back into the glove compartment and reached for the pack of Skittles. His fingers barely touched it before his hand moved towards the cigarette pack instead.

Opening it he saw that there were about seven cigarettes left inside the box, as well as a simple blue plastic lighter. He hesitated for only three seconds before pulling out a smoke and lighting it. He snapped the box shut and threw it to the passenger seat.

Taking a long puff on his cigarette, he leaned back against his seat and watched Relena's plane disappear into the cloudy NYC horizon.

It started to rain.

*     *     *

The large black and white clock above the door in Dr. Sloan's office showed 11:07 AM and the date display at the center read Dec 19 204. Heero sat on the sofa opposite of the door, looking up at the clock and watching the minutes tick by idly. Sloan sat in his usual seat on an armchair facing Heero, tapping his pen impatiently on the notepad resting in his lap as he looked at his patient with a scrutinizing glare.

"We have to talk about it," he declared sternly and Heero finally tore his gaze away from the clock. His blue eyes now rested on Sloan, gleaming coldly.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Something must have triggered your latest episode," the doctor insisted and Heero heaved an irate sigh, shifting uneasily in his seat.

"It won't happen again," he promised, but Sloan didn't look pleased.

"Is it Christmas?" the man ventured a guess.

"It won't happen again," Heero repeated firmly and the doctor sighed.

"I'm going to increase your dosage," he said as he wrote something down on his yellow notepad; "I'll prescribe some antianxiety meds as well, just to be safe."

"Fine," Heero grunted and turned to glare out the window, studying the view quietly.

"There might be some side effects," Sloan warned and Heero turned to face him again.

"Like what?"

"Nausea, disorientation, drowsiness, lightheadedness, clumsiness... In some cases patients display impaired judgment, even memory loss. If you're already suffering from any of these, it will get worse," he warned.

"If you're trying to intimidate me into talking – don't bother;" Heero muttered, uninterested, and turned to the window again. "Just prescribe whatever's necessary to clear me for duty."

"I am not trying to intimidate you, Heero," Sloan sighed, exasperated; "I'm just saying that you shouldn't be surprised if you experience some of those symptoms."

"Fine," Heero grunted, still gazing out the window stoically.

Dr. Sloan shook his head in frustration and reached for his prescription pad resting on the table at his side.

"You used to talk to Wright," he remarked disapprovingly as he wrote the new prescription down. He ripped the page off the pad and handed it to Heero, meeting his eyes. "Why not talk to me?"

Heero leaned forward to accept the prescription. "I have nothing left to say," he insisted and pulled back, skimming over the note.

"Surely there must be—"

"You can learn what you need from Wright's files," Heero cut him in mid-sentence. "I gave you my consent to access them."

"We're not talking about then, we're talking about _now_ ," the man argued in frustration; "How can I determine if you're fit for duty if you don't cooperate? You're not giving me much to work on."

"I'm giving you my word that I am fully capable of preforming my duties on this case. It's not like I have to do much," he groused bleakly; "I'm just a part of the scenery."

"Don't underestimate your role," Sloan rebuked; "They put you on this case for a reason."

"Feels more like an elaborate plan to hook me up," Heero muttered disgruntledly, then sighed and shook his head, stopping the doctor before he would try to dwell on it. "Just take my word for it – I'm fine," he hurried to conclude.

"Suffering from an acute panic attack is _not_ fine," the older man admonished harshly; "I'm afraid that your word is not enough," he decided and reached for the _Confirmation of Attendance_ pad. He signed it and stamped it with a red **UFD** stamp: unfit for duty. He handed it to Heero, glaring severely at the young agent.

"Start taking the new prescriptions," he said; "Come back in a week and we'll see about putting you back on active duty."

Heero glowered at him angrily and stood up. He snatched the note from the man's hands and marched briskly out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

*     *     *

A flickering florescent light buzzed annoyingly in a small and otherwise well-lighted stairwell room. Heero sat on the floor between two flights of stairs – one leading up to the Preventer building's 12th floor and the other down to the 10th floor below. He sat leaning against the wall opposite of a heavy fire-door leading in and out of the stairwell. His legs were drawn up, hands resting up supported by his kneecaps, one holding a burning cigarette and the other holding a smartphone.

Brining the cigarette up for a drag, he stared ahead thoughtfully, blue eyes numb. After a few more puffs on his cigarette, Heero turned his phone around so he could look at the display. There was a number on the open screen, ready to be dialed: 0002-08744-09-555-861

He gawked at it drearily, inhaled another puff and released the smoke slowly into the air.

He dialed. The call took a while to connect as the signal traveled far away from Earth's orbiting satellites, being routed all the way over the moon and beyond. Finally, there was a tone, and then:

"L2PD station," a female voice answered; "how may I direct your call?"

Heero took the cigarette out of his mouth. He cleared his throat, hesitating momentarily before croaking out: "Detective Maxwell please."

"One moment," the operator replied smoothly and put him on hold. Unpleasant music played in his ears. Heero placed the burning cigarette between his lips again and toyed with it nervously, waving it up and down while he waited with bated breath for the call to transfer. When he heard the on-hold music stop, his breath hitched slightly. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth again and readied himself, preparing to speak even though he felt that he couldn't form a sound over the lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry," the same female voice from a moment earlier apologized and Heero relaxed, slumping back against the wall. He placed the cigarette back in his mouth.

"He's not in today," the operator explained; "May I ask who's calling please? I could leave a message. Perhaps someone else could take your call?"

Heero took a long drag on his cigarette. His silence stretched for a bit longer than acceptable as he contemplated her offer.

"Sir? Hello?"

He hung up.

Exhaling a nervous breath, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and leaned his head back against the wall. He kept holding his cellphone in one hand and raised the other to take another drag. He blew smoke into the air, following it with his eyes as it dissipated slowly.

The heavy stairwell door creaked loudly as it was opened from the outside. Heero didn't bother looking at it and continued gazing up at the ceiling, head tilted back, smoking.

Agent Shaw peeked into the stairwell room. She spotted him sitting on the floor in front of the door, a burning smoke in his hand. Smiling cannily, she stepped inside, allowing the emergency-exit door to close behind her.

"I used to come here too when I needed to sneak in a few drags," she said in amusement and sat down on the stairs next to him, leaning an elbow over her thigh and resting her head on it, looking at him curiously.

"The Skittles aren't doing it for you anymore?"

"Not today," he mumbled tediously and took another puff.

Merida nodded; her expression serious once more.

"Yeah, I heard," she sighed; "Sloan pulled you off active duty?"

Heero didn't grace her with a response and continued smoking quietly, staring up at the ceiling. Shaw studied him with concern.

"Then why won't you go home?" she asked; "Looks like you could use some R n' R."

"Can't," he said and finally tilted his head forward so he was facing the door.

"Why not?" Merida asked with a frown.

"Baker is working on putting me back in," he replied quietly and glanced down at his phone.

"Seriously?" Shaw marveled; "He can overrule _Sloan_?"

"He's trying," Heero murmured, distracted while staring at his phone; "Told me to wait." He placed the cellphone in his jacket's pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes; Winston Blue.

"With all due respect to A-SAC Baker, he can't go around Sloan," Merida pointed out; "That's the whole point behind having a shrink examine us, isn't it? His word beats Baker's."

"Not in this case."

"Why the Hell not?"

Heero took another smoke out of the pack, as well as a blue plastic lighter. He placed the fresh cigarette between pressed lips and lit it up. He returned the lighter to the box and shoved it into his pocket. Merida watched patiently as he took a long drag on his new cigarette and then finally pulled it away from his mouth.

"Because it worked," he stated calmly, releasing smoke slowly into the air. "He's taken the bait."

She gaped at him, shocked.

"Oh my God... for real?"

Heero nodded, taking another puff.

"So soon?"

"Yeah."

"I guess you should be flattered;" she tried to joke, though the humor was drowned by the worry in her voice. Heero didn't seem to take her attempt to joke too kindly. His usually stoic features hardened into an aggrieved, hurtful, expression.

"Sorry," she mumbled and bowed her head down to avoid his harsh blue eyes; "that was tactless."

A tense silence fell. She stared dully at the floor while Heero continued to smoke quietly, his brooding gaze fixed on the stairwell door, until he was nearly halfway through his second smoke.

"Do you know why they pulled me off Cyber to work on this case?" he suddenly asked, still staring numbly at the door.

Merida looked up again. "I assumed it's because you fit the profile."

"His victimology is extremely diverse," he remarked dryly. "Surely you saw through that."

"Yeah but... I mean... The BAU [[1]] chose you for a reason, right? Even though they probably could have come up with a dozen other agents who fit the profile far better..." she picked up on his train of thought. He nodded to signal that she was on the right track and then raised his cigarette back up for another puff.

Merida frowned warily. "You're right," she concluded; "The other victims were all involved with someone... some had families," she muttered pensively; "Loved ones are crucial in this profile. I know that this is where I come in, but now that you mention it... why go through all that trouble?"

"It's a smoke screen," he mumbled with a weary sigh, avoiding eye contact as he tilted his head back against the wall again. Merida seemed confused by his vague answer.

"To hide what?"

Heero didn't answer. He continued smoking, gazing up at the ceiling. Merida watched him quietly for a moment, frustrated.

"There's a lot they're not telling me about this case, is there?" she complained; "I feel like my job is to sit tight and look pretty and I don't like it. This isn't what I signed in for."

"Join the club," Heero grunted and took one last drag on his nearly finished smoke, finally tipping his head forward again.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "So now what? Baker puts you back on and we keep dating until... what?" she asked and Heero shrugged indifferently.

"We'll see," he said, still looking at the door. She nodded gravely and the silence resumed for a while longer.

"Are you nervous?" she dared a bold question.

Heero turned aside and stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, his eyes focused on the small butt as he crushed it against the white tiles. "No," he whispered, twisting the burnt butt left and right; "...not usually."

Shaw nodded in sympathy. "It'll be fine," she made an empty promise, struggling to offer a reassuring smile. "We took every precaution."

"Yeah..." he breathed desolately and threw the crushed cigarette butt to the far corner of the stairwell room. His Prussian blue eyes followed its decent as it flew across the room, hit the opposite wall and bumped into it forcefully, bouncing once and then falling to the floor like a lifeless corpse.

*     *     *

 

 

[1] The Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) is an FBI department that uses behavioral sciences to assist in criminal investigations of complex and time-sensitive crimes.


	4. SCI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Dust particles hovered lazily in the air, catching the bright high-noon light pouring in through a window at the far end of a long hallway. The ugly olive-green carpet covering the corridor floor was old, ragged and filthy. The two rows of closed apartment doors at its sides were just as shabby-looking: the hideous brown paint scrapped off and cracks forming all over.

A door located at the center of the hallway creaked loudly at it was opened from the inside. A businessman stepped out. He arranged his loose tie, looked guiltily left and right and they hurried for the elevator. The hallway fell silent again, remaining empty for a few more minutes before the same door opened again. A young Latin woman stepped out – Tomás's mother. She was dressed in a pair of worn-out shorts and a sloppy T-shirt. Her long wavy hair was undone, wet after a shower and cascading down her skinny backside. Her bare tanned legs padded quietly on the dusty green carpet as she closed the door behind her and walked further down the hall. She stopped in front of another door and knocked once. When there was no answer she simply let herself in.

The first thing she saw when she entered the small apartment was that the TV was on. All the blinds were closed and it was dark; the colorful flickering of a cartoon playing was the only source of light inside. Tomás sat on the sofa with a bowl of milk and cereal, his eyes glued to the television screen. She turned her head in the direction of the kitchen. It was empty. Finally, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Tomás looked up, staring at her quietly for only a moment, before turning back to the TV. He took a spoonful of cereal and served it to his mouth, eyes never leaving the screen. She stood there a moment, an anguished expression on her face as she studied her son with wretched eyes. The boy ignored her. Eventually, she turned away and headed for the small corridor leading further into the small apartment. She peeked into the bedroom. It was dark and empty. She turned to the bathroom instead. The door was closed. She opened it without knocking.

The bathroom was dark so she switched on the light. A fluorescent lamp flickered to life and shed white harsh light over the bright ceramic tiling. A person was lying on the floor between the bathtub and vanity, dressed in shabby black sweats, no shoes. His long chestnut-brown hair was sprawled behind him in a chaotic cascade of unruly strands; his untrimmed bangs were plastered over his face, wet with sweat and soaked with tears, concealing his features completely. There was a terrible stench in the small washroom; he had obviously soiled himself with urine and vomit.

"Jesus, Duo..." the young woman whispered in horror, covering her mouth with her hand. She hurried to kneel by his side and reached a hand forward to brush his wet bangs aside, unveiling his face. She was surprised to see that his red-rimmed eyes were wide open, staring ahead dully. His lips were chapped and peeling, there was redness under his nose and traces of dry vomit under his chin. One quick look into his glazed-over eyes and she could easily determine that his pupils were dilated; he was tweaked.

"Christ, what are you on?" she hissed angrily and rolled him over so he was lying on his back, facing up. His long hair tangled all around him, large chunks of it twisting into his clothes.

He laughed; a rough gurgle that sounded more like a sob than a giggle. "The good stuff..." he rasped in a gruff voice, smiling goofily; "Fuck, Roz...yanno... this shit really takes you places..."

Rozita sighed and stood back up, reaching into the bathtub and opening the faucet until hot water started coming out. She turned back to Duo and pulled him up by his limp arms, coaxing him to sit. He showed no resistance, just stared ahead numbly, as she took off his filthy black sweatshirt, pulling it over his head. She then placed two hands under his armpits and nudged him up; he got the hint and tried to stand on two shaky legs. She took off his soiled pants and shorts, keeping her eyes up, and guided him into the tub. He sat in its center and curled into himself, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them and long hair falling against his back like a cape. He was staring dazedly ahead the whole time.

She reached for the portable showerhead, adjusted the water and began washing him. Duo closed his eyes and bowed his head down so that his forehead was resting on his drawn up knees. His long wet hair veiled his face like a curtain.

"We useta do it... in the shower... all the time..." he mumbled in a distant, pensive voice; "It was safe here... where no one... no one would know... He didn't... didn't want anyone to know... always sneaking around... no one was allowed to know..."

"Know what?" Rozita asked softly as she lathered his hair with a generous amount of shampoo.

"...that he loved fucking me..." Duo answered dreamily. "Wouldn't lay a finger on her... he only got dirty with me..." he added with a miserable chuckle, which soon turned into a sob; "She was... she was something ideal... sacred... important... pure... Nuthin' like me. I was just there so he could vent... so he could vent all the ugliness out and then go to her feeling clean... always bouncing between the two of us... I couldn't see it back then... I was such a stupid kid... God, but I... I took whatever he was willing to give... Kept telling myself that I was getting the _real_ him... the part he never wanted her to see... he gave me the ugly and I loved him for it... I loved it that it was just for me..."

Rozita listened quietly while shampooing his tangled long hair, a shine of sympathy in her dark brown eyes. When she raised his hair up to lather its long edges, she exposed the old welts on his back and her eyes watered.

"I was a fucking whore... sorry. I was a stupid goofball taking everything with a smile, every bit of his ugliness... just for him... just to be with him... I useta... useta hide lube in my shampoo bottle..." he recalled with wistful chuckle; "...couldn't wash my hair, but man... at least my ass didn't hurt so bad... He was so... rough... aggressive... Fuck, it's been so long since I fucked!" he wept pitiably; "I'm so fucking alone!"

Rozita picked up the showerhead again and rinsed the shampoo from his hair while he cried brokenly into his knees. She finished washing him silently and then wrapped a clean towel around his naked body. He stepped out of the bathtub mutely, his gaze cast down to the floor as he held the towel closed around himself. She guided him to his bedroom and lifted the covers up. He lay down, curling into a fetal position, dressed only in his towel. Rozita covered him tightly while he stared ahead with numb, empty, cobalt eyes.

She turned to his small night table. There was residue of pale-pink powder all over it, along with a small plastic bag and a soiled credit card, also covered with the pink powder. The bag was nearly empty, only a few ounces of pinkish crystal left inside. She hurried to clean away the mess, wiping the leftovers off the table with her hands, and snatched the plastic bag away. She turned to leave the room.

"He... he chose her in the end..." Duo suddenly murmured. He wasn't looking at her, but straight through her. "Shoulda chosen me, but... he... he chose her..." his eyes watered with tears of self-pity and he turned his head, burying it in his pillow; "It was never me," he wept wretchedly, "No one ever picks me... No one ever stays with me!"

Rozita watched him silently for a moment, pain and compassion in her eyes, and finally left the room quietly and closed the door behind her, leaving him to his grief.

*     *     *

A lot was left out and twisted when someone recalled the past in a dream. Nothing was ever accurate, though every emotion was just as intense as it had been before, perhaps even a couple times over. That was why Duo hated dreaming, and he dreaded dreams of the past even more. Right now he was dreaming of Christmas AC 196 – the night they won back the ESUN Capital and the last time he had seen Heero Yuy. Fuck. He didn't want to be here again... yet there he was: his sixteen-year-old self was stomping hastily down a crowded hospital corridor, still dressed in his flight suit, torn and tattered from the fight. His face was streaked with dry blood and grime, his hair disheveled and his braid coming undone. His fists were clenched angrily, his cobalt eyes burning with rage, as he marched into a crowded ICU and walked straight past Relena Darlian on the way to his destination. He yanked a hospital curtain aside in a violent _'whoosh!'_ and revealed the bed on which Heero was laid injured and bandaged, but awake. The young pilot's head was wrapped in a thick bandage; his hair had been shaved off. There was an oxygen tube under his nose and a dull, tired expression on his gaunt face. His right cheek was badly bruised where he had punched him before they parted ways. He looked up sluggishly, Prussian blue eyes shifting idly in Duo's direction the second he stepped through the curtain. He stared at Duo mutely, an unreadable shine in his blue eyes.

"You God damned son-of-a-bitch! You left me behind!" Duo hissed accusingly, glaring down mercilessly at the person he used to consider his lover. "You left in me that Hellhole and you ran off to _her_!"

Heero's chapped lips parted; he was about to say something. Duo shook his head and raised a hand up to shut him up.

"Don't bother," he spat angrily; "You wanna say that you were doing what had to be done, right? Well _don't_. I don't want to hear it again. I get it. It's _her_. You don't haffta make excuses anymore. It's always _her_... you always run back to her, battle or no battle... it's always _her_."

He leaned over Heero, supporting himself on the bed, and looked him straight in the eye, glowering furiously at Heero's apathetic eyes.

"You know, they say that that Catalonia nut-job chic gave this big speech... during the fight. Said that we're _real men_... but you know what Heero? You're no man. You're a _boy_. A _stupid_ little _boy_ who won't admit that he likes fucking other boys! So screw you. I don't need this shit. I just finished wasting two years of my life taking your shit lying down. If it's her you want – fine. Knock yourself out. I'm done."

He turned to leave, but he couldn't. He wanted Heero to stop him. He wanted Heero to _say_ something, anything... even the smallest thing would make him stay.

But Heero was silent... not a word.

Duo whirled back around, his cobalt eyes hurt and tearful.

"That's not fair!" he cried – his anger overridden by pain. "You think you're doing the right thing choosing her? Why! Because her genitals happen to be in the inside instead of on the outside?! Because picking her fits nicely into this sweet little fairytale you like telling yourself before you go to bed? Screw that! That don't make nuthin' right! She'll never get you the way I do! She'll never accept the shit I can accept!"

He rushed back to the bed, throwing himself down to his knees before Heero. The injured pilot just stared at him with empty eyes.

"You should choose me – Heero!" He called, panicked. "Pick _me_! Choose _me,_ " he begged, shouting angrily and weeping miserably at the same time, openly distraught. "Shit... just this once... just this God damn once – tell me that we had something... Tell me, Heero... please. Tell me that it meant something... something more than fucking. Tell me you want this... I'll understand if you're afraid to make something more out of it, it's okay, but just... Jesus... just tell me. Tell me so I'll know... so I won't feel so God damn stupid... please."

That never really happened. He never really begged, never cried like that. There was only anger that day; anger and silence, both brutal and intense. Heero never spoke a word and Duo never cried; he only allowed himself to do so in his dream, yet even here Heero wouldn't say a word. Instead, he lowered his gaze down shamefully.

There was nothing left to say, so Duo heaved a miserable sigh and stood up, bowing his head down sorrowfully.

"Fine," he mumbled and turned back around to leave. "I get it."

And he left, closing the curtain behind him.

Relena was still waiting outside the ICU when he stepped out. God he hated herso much! Not because of anything she had done – it wasn't her fault – but because she was the only thing he could never be: the object of Heero's affections. He hated her because Heero loved her. Petty, but true. The ugly truth always laid unashamedly bare in a dream.

He glared at _her_ resentfully, looked her in the eye and said: "He's all yours." He then walked away, muttering a cynical: "Good luck with that..." and that was the last he had seen of Heero and _her_.

Duo woke up from his dream, his face soaked with tears.

*     *     *

"There are times, when we are faced with unthinkable loss, that those who grieve want answers to questions they cannot understand," Father Dixon spoke in a grim and steady tone, addressing a full house. The small church was packed with an audience seeking guidance and comfort. The old priest stood behind a podium on the altar, trying to appeal to a congregation that came seeking answers after the terrible massacre at The Pit. Many had lost loved ones in the tragedy that had crippled and claimed the lives of a dozen cops, as well as over thirty addicts – lost sons and daughters who had made the notorious drug lair their home. It was less than a week before Christmas, and L2-V08744 was grieving.

"In the midst of tragedy, people ask questions, and today we find ourselves asking the same questions that burdened our hearts during times of hardship, war and loss: Why did this have to happen? Where was God? Why didn't He stop it? Why me? Why the people I love?

"Those are hard questions and answering them will not remove our sadness, nor will it bring those who have died back to life. But the _real_ question shouldn't be why us, but rather why _not_ us? The truth is we are anything but a faithful Christian community. Our behavior makes a mockery of Christianity! We lead the world in every abomination known to man: abortion, alcoholism, drug addiction, gambling, child abuse, violent crime, prostitution, pornography, pedophilia, rape... The very name of L2-08744 is a synonym for all those evils put together! This is a modern Sodom and Gomorrah! Worse yet, we now export our immorality to other regions through our inability to stop the distribution of lethal drugs from this colony! We are going out of our way to ignore every expression of profanity and obscenity! We have abandoned God in every way!

"As a result of this terrible slaughter on our street, our colony is praying like it has not prayed for years. It is pleading with God for comfort, protection, and guidance. God is hearing from people He hasn't heard from in years. And because of our reaction to this new horror that befell upon us we might – we just _might_ – stand a chance against evil."

A few weeping heads nodded in the audience.

"How can we become better rather than bitter as result of the lessons from what happened at The Pit?" Father Dixon continued his sermon; "Let us overcome any tendencies to give into discouragement, frustration or hurt. Let us utilize the power of God's promise: 'Do not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good'..."

The dark parking lot outside the church was full. The streets were empty; the whole neighborhood was there. Not a soul roamed the slums expect for one: a young man who chose to remain standing outside the small church, smoking as he paced around in circles in front of the entrance. He was dressed in baggy clothes and a dark hooded sweatshirt with the hood drawn up over his head, concealing his face. The church doors were wide open, a column of light tumbling onto the dark asphalt and the sound of Father Dixon's voice vibrating through the still night air.

The sermon ended and people started leaving the church. Gradually, the parking lot emptied and silence engulfed the small structure. Only then did the young man throw his cigarette onto the ground, where it joined its predecessors, and entered the church.

The house of worship was vacant, quiet and dim. The young hooded man stood still for a moment, making sure he was alone, before he made his way to the confessional. He closed the curtain behind him, sat down, and finally took the hood off.

Taking a deep breath, Duo looked timidly up at the crucifix hanging over the grille, crossed his heart and whispered:  "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, my last confession was uh... seventeen years ago."

Father Dixon sat behind the lattice. He nodded gravely. "Yes, and as I recall Sister Helen had to drag you kicking and screaming into the booth, so what brings you here now, son?"

Duo heaved a long, miserable, sigh. He bowed his head down sorrowfully, unable to speak.

"Would it be the same reason the rest of the flock came here tonight?" the priest determined solemnly. "You're here because of Jesse."

Inhaling a trembling breath, trying to keep tears at bay, Duo closed his eyes sadly, fighting back the wetness gathering behind his closed eyelids.

"I... I couldn't even bring myself to step outta the car, at the funeral..." he mumbled in a shaky voice; "Couldn't face Clara again... God... I can't look her in the eye after failing her so many times..."

"It wasn't your fault, Duo," Dixon reminded him softly; "she knows that."

Duo shook his head, his eyes still closed. "I promised Joe... I promised I'd look after Jesse... keep him outta trouble..."

"There was nothing you could've done for that boy, or for Joe, for that matter."

"There's always something..." Duo murmured regretfully and hunched forward over his knees, entwining his fingers and leaning his head against them as though in prayer.

"I coulda at least been there... for both. I left Joe in that alley after he was shot and I left Jesse in The Pit... They died alone, Father. They died knowing I shoulda come back for them, but I didn't. There was never time..."

The old priest sighed quietly. "I would quote scripture if I knew it would offer you any comfort, but that's not why you're here, is it?"

Duo shook his head 'no', still leaning into his folded hands. He inhaled a long, shaky breath and straightened up slowly. Tears streaked his cheeks.

"I... I had a slipup, Father," he confessed shamefully, unable to look anywhere but at his feet. "I... God, I... I... I never handed in that sample you gave me..."

There was a short pause before Father Dixon sighed and whispered sadly: "Oh, Duo..."

Duo raised two hands up to cover his face, hiding in disgrace. "I know..." he cried; "I know... God... I know... I'm so sorry..."

"I hope you didn't come here hoping I'd hook you up with some more," Dixon added harshly.

Duo hurried to shake his head; face still hidden. "No... no... God, no... I... I just... I..." he sighed, lowering his hands down and placing them on his lap. He stared at them dully. "I didn't know where else to go."

Father Dixon cleared his throat. "I know that you don't approve of the way I run things, but you should come to group tomorrow. It helps."

"No... no I... I can't. If anyone finds out I've been using again... Jesus... no. I can't risk it. I'm still on probation... the Chief will kick me out in a heartbeat."

"Maybe it'll be for the best," the old man suggested carefully; "Maybe you should take a break from all the ugliness on the streets. What about that girl you told me about, the one on V08755? The one with the salvage yard."

"Hilde?" Duo chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, she's always been nagging me to leave 744, but... but this is home, yanno? I don't fit nowhere else." He sighed, still looking down at his hands as he twiddled his fingers. "...'sides, she's like a million months pregnant or sumethin'... I can't dump my shit on them right now."

The priest nodded in understanding. Duo continued fiddling with his fingers. He could feel the old man's gaze on him. Dixon allowed him a few more moments of silent contemplation before speaking again:

"To be honest, after all that happened, I was surprised to see you back on 744," the priest admitted. "And even though you weren't so happy to see me again, I was relieved that you made it back here in one piece. We have our fair share of differences, and I know that you still resent me for leaving the church after... you know... but I am grateful that you still seek my guidance. In a way, this is my chance to make amends. It's the least I can do for Father Maxwell. That's why I'll allow myself be just as blunt as he was as I tell you this: your life is going nowhere, Duo. Keep this up, and you're bound to repeat every God damned mistake you've already made. You need to change course, leave this place, start anew, no matter how daunting that might be. L2 will only hold you back. This is a place of sin, not retribution."

Duo took a deep breath and clenched his fists tightly. "I came back here because I figured... I dunno. That all my other sins will be justified if I come back here? I thought maybe I... I dunno... that maybe it'll make up for sumthin'..." he mumbled bleakly; "make it like everything in between then and now never happened..." He turned to the grid, finally seeking Dixon's face.

"L2's all I got, Father. I ain't got nuhtin' else. Nothing. All I got that means anything is this stupid _rope_ I carry around for hair and this pendant you gave me from back then. The cross only means sumthin' 'cuz it was his and... God... you don't know how many times I thought 'bout chopping this damn thing off." He flipped his braid out of the hoodie and brought it forward, fiddling with the long strands at its messy edge.

"But I'm too chicken to even trim it," he sighed; "It's like... like... like I'm not allowed to let go... I can't forget, not ever. None of it. Not the church, not the war, not even..." he paused, shaking his head. "I'm just... _stuck_. Eight fucking years and I'm still fixed on this one thing, this one... one... one person. I don't get it, Father. People they... they move on. They move on to the next lover, find a spouse, get married, divorce... married again... and I... I'm still hung up on him! I'm still thinking 'bout a guy who wouldn't even gimme the time of day when we _were_ together! How pathetic is that?!" He finished with a desperate cry and buried face in hands again. "I'm such a loser, I swear. God..."

Father Dixon was silent; it was a tense, heavy kind of silence. Duo peeked at the lattice between his fingers.

"You ain't gonna preach me 'bout burning in Hell for liking guys, are you?" he asked fearfully and the old man scoffed.

"After all this time, I wish you'd give me a little more credit," he said, smiling sadly. "I respected Father Maxwell for many reasons, but I am not like him."

"No shit," Duo mumbled, uncovering his face. He leaned back into his chair, slouching tiredly, and heaved another long sigh. "God... you don't know how good it feels to finally say it..."

"Confession is good for the soul," the old priest teased and Duo rolled his eyes, his face actually cracking a smile.

"Yeah, well, I ain't plannin' on makin' a habit outta this."

Dixon nodded. "Tell me about this guy," he asked instead; "What was so special about him that you can't let go after all this time?"

Duo stared ahead numbly, thinking. He shrugged. "I dunno... nothing really," he said, bowing his head down. He was fiddling with his fingers again. "But... it was... everything. It was like... he was like... I dunno. Fire. And Ice. Cold one moment and burning hot the next... It was... intense. I was hooked. He... he was someone else when he was with me. I... I saw things... things he didn't bother hiding around me. Ugly things. Horrible things... brutal. Things he could never change... I saw him... and I loved it... I loved him. I... I was _addicted_ to every last bit of it... to the ugliest sides of him."

He chuckled bitterly; "Guess I was always some kinda junkie... huh? But that ugly... it was beautiful. There was something beautiful underneath. Something I was dying to reach. All those things that made him plain, the things that made him like everyone else... they were beautiful. I loved the parts of him no one else could see, the things he was ashamed of, and Heero... he... he hated that I saw him. He hated being seen... always hiding... always... always shutting me out. I was a stubborn asshole, so he left. Left me for someone who couldn't see him at all. Some _prissy_ broad with a mission to make a proper human being outta him... what a load of _bull_. He probably thought that she could save him, erase all the ugly... bury it someplace no one would ever see, but that ugly _was_ him. It was what I loved. It was what made us perfect for each other... why erase it?

"God, Father... what do I do? I've been thinkin' 'bout him a lot lately. I tried not to for so many years, but... but... it's useless. It always comes back to him. He... he's... feels like he's haunting me... no matter where I go."

"You were left wondering what you might have missed," the old made speculated; "That's why you can't let go."

"Yeah... I guess. Maybe," Duo mumbled, staring numbly at his fingers.

"We are always fascinated by the mysterious and unique," Dixon explained; "There's a natural attraction to things wild and grisly, yet beautiful and pure at the same time. They make us feel that we are in the presence of something almost supernatural, something that pulsates with energy and life far more real than our own. It's as overwhelming as the very concept of God. A person who is at once awful, august, majestic, overpowering and uncanny – a manifestation of our darkest desires... how can anyone be expected to resist a person who fulfills our deepest spiritual longing? We can't help but feel both terrified of and attracted to this person. Some people find this awe and fulfillment in God. The lucky ones find it in someone they love."

Duo looked up, his cobalt eyes shining with tears. "So you're saying it's not my fault?" he asked bashfully; "That it's outta my hands?"

"I'm saying that you don't have to fear that your feelings for this man are abnormal."

"I thought you said that that the only true love out there is God..."

Father Dixon snarled nastily. "I also say 'don't do drugs' while I keep using, so..."

Duo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Point taken," he muttered with a cynical smirk. "I think that's why I keep coming down here."

The priest smiled kindly. "Feeling a bit better?"

"I guess," Duo shrugged and then exhaled tiredly. "Yeah... a little."

"Are you good for tonight? Can I trust you to keep clean?"

"Yeah, sure... I ran outta the shit anyway."

"Good. Now go home, Duo. Get some sleep. I'm here whenever you need to talk."

"Thank you, Father," Duo said and stood up. He opened the curtain, about to leave confessional, but then stopped and added:

"I get it why Father Maxwell wanted you out," he whispered; "but I knew that you never touched any of the children. All things considered you turned out alright... At least your heart is in the right place."

The old priest smiled thankfully. "As is yours," he said; "He would have been proud of you, Duo. I know he would've forgiven you for all of your sins, whether you came back here or not."

"Yeah, well..." the young man mumbled and began to walk away; "Either that or he woulda seen us both in Hell..."

*     *     *

The only item still remaining on Duo's naked body while he showered was the plain silver cross and necklace around his neck. The small crucifix dangled from its chain, swinging lazily left and right as Duo leaned bent forward, supported by two forearms folded against the cool porcelain wall, and let the water beat down against his hunched back. His hair was undone; a wet dark-brown blanket plastered over his backside, thus concealing the long whip-lash scars across his back.

His eyes were closed, his expression despaired. Hot water cascaded down his muscular body, flooding him with memories.

He had always looked forward to hitting the showers after a battle was over, even more so when Heero was around. And for a few precious days towards the end of the Eve War – way back in AC 195 – he had Heero all to himself on the spaceship Peacemillion.

The battles were frequent. The White Fang, a military terrorist organization dedicated to the liberation of the Colonies from the oppression of the United Earth Sphere Alliance, Romefeller and OZ, had also turned against _them_ – the first to stand up for the Colonies' freedom. Their ship was constantly being attacked by Mobile Dolls and all five Gundam pilots were reaching the end of their rope. Stealing a few quiet minutes for a quick shower had been a rare and priceless luxury. He had passed on some much needed sleep in order to sneak into the showers late at night while the Dolls regrouped before the next fight. The showers were dark and quiet; save for the sound of running water. Duo expected to be alone, but one stall was already occupied when he entered.

There weren't any curtains, only a small partition separating each stall from the one next to it. Once he entered the large hall, Duo had no trouble recognizing the naked backside of the person occupying the shower booth just opposite of the door, engulfed by a thin cloud of hot steam. Apparently, Heero had also decided that a first shower in days would be more welcomed than sleep.

The teenage pilot stood leaning against the wall in front of him, both arms outstretched to support his weight. He was hunched forward, torso bowed down low, and he was retching quietly, vomiting into the drain between his bare feet. Duo winced at the unpleasant sound and approached quietly. He shed the towel wrapped around his waist, letting it fall to the floor on the way, and joined Heero in the small shower stall. It wasn't until he spoke that Heero seemed to notice his presence. Tired as they were, that was understandable.

"That piss-poor-excuse-for-a-Gundam sure has a grip on you," Duo said quietly as he reached a hand past Heero to grab a bar of soap. Heero tensed and straightened up slowly, his slumped shoulders drawing back into a more confident stance. He turned around dazedly, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He looked awful; his face gaunt and eyes bleary with fatigue, a feverish gleam in his usually sharp Prussian blue eyes. His long bangs were plastered over his pale face, dripping. He looked at Duo blankly, waiting quietly. Duo offered a small, strained smile.

"Side effects are a bitch, huh?" he added sympathetically and reached for Heero's limp hand, holding it gently so he could lather it up.

"I mean, I only rode that Hellish thing _once_ , and that was enough to last me a lifetime..." he sighed and reached for Heero's other arm, allowing the first to fall lifelessly at his side. Heero stood passively still, listening, and allowed Duo to wash him.

"That thing sure had me trippin'... I saw _Hell_ when I was in there. I was sure I was losing my mind..." Duo recalled uneasily. He glanced up, seeking Heero's stoic face and added a timid: "What do you see?"

Heero's hand tensed. He drew it away from Duo's grasp and turned around slowly, presenting his backside, which was no small gesture; Heero didn't turn his back on just anyone. Duo got the hint and began soaping it up as well. Unlike his scar-ridden backside, Heero's back was smooth; muscular and strong, even in this weary state.

The water was still running, dripping loudly to the floor.

"You know..." Duo continued after a while, "this might very well be the final act of this fucking war," he paused; "Does it ever show you what comes afterwards?"

Heero said nothing in reply. He leaned his head down tiredly, pressing his forehead against the wall. Water cascaded in warm torrents down his bent back. He shook his head against the wall, face hidden from sight.

"Howard said he heard you speak to it," Duo revealed quietly, almost hesitant; he was threading on thin ice. "In the hangar," he added carefully. "Funny that you talk to that _devilish_ thing, but you won't say a word to me..."

"ZERO gives me clarity... not premonitions," Heero mumbled against the wall, his head still hunched against it. His voice was low and raspy, worn-out by exhaustion.

"You spent the whole day yesterday on that thing while we were out there fighting," Duo mumbled; "It musta shown you _something_."

Heero turned back around, finally facing him. His piercing expression remained unreadable as he studied Duo quietly for a tense moment. Duo stood his ground, looking evenly into Heero's eyes. They were roughly the same height – Heero just a tad taller – both just as stubborn, and such a staring contest could last for days if one of them didn't decide to break it. This time, Duo decided, he won't be the first to cave. Heero must have picked up on his determination and hence was the first to break eye contact. He turned around slowly and reached a hand to switch the water off.

"There's gotta be more than just Hell out there, right?" Duo asked helplessly, his eyes pleading Heero to throw him a bone, give him some kind of answer; something solid, for once. Something he could hold onto as they plunge themselves into oblivion.

Heero turned back around and fixed his intense blue eyes on Duo. When he finally moved, it was far too fast to even grasp. In a flash he had Duo pinned against the partition to their side; wet naked bodies colliding audibly. Duo gasped, surprised to find himself caught between Heero's hard body and the wall. His gasping breath was stolen by a fierce kiss as the Wing-ZERO pilot leaned forward and ravaged Duo's mouth hungrily. The kiss was wet, hot and sloppy; fueled by desperation and untamable aggression. No restraints; Heero never held back around him. It was dangerous, and it was painful, but Duo loved it; that was how he knew that he was getting the _real_ thing, the real Heero: callous, blunt and utterly destructive.

He raised both arms up, wrapping them around Heero's slick body, and returned the kiss, his advances just as frenzied. Steely arms tightened around his waist until it hurt. One arm snuck up to grab the thick part of his braid at the back of the neck, pushing his head closer and deeper into the fierce kiss. When Heero's ravenous lips began traveling downwards, Duo stopped him, pushing him off with two firm arms. Heero didn't budge and continued his advances, slowly crouching down, his hands trailing along Duo's nude body, so Duo shoved harder, knocking him away forcefully.

Heero finally got the hint and stopped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his feral blue eyes looking up at Duo as he rose slowly.  Duo was still leaning against the partition behind him, an angry scowl on his face, his lips bruised. They remained standing face to face, unmoving, water dripping quietly from their slick, wet bodies. The droplets joined the puddle of water at their feet, slowly flowing down the drain in a series of quiet gurgles.

"You saw something... didn't you?" Duo whispered with panting, shallow, breath. "ZERO showed you something... gave you... _clarity_."

Heero remained silent, simply looking at him with unreadable eyes.

"It's her," Duo determined forlornly, his expression wretched. "You saw _her_... in your future."

Heero held his gaze quietly for a moment more before breaking eye contact. He moved to step out of the small shower stall. Duo turned around and watched as Heero walked over to the bench where he had placed his things and grabbed a towel. He dried himself hastily; his movements stiff and automated, and then wrapped the towel around his naked waist. He gathered his belongings and headed for the door.

The automatic doors swooshed open with a silent hiss. Heero stopped at the doorway, pausing for a moment. All Duo could see from where he was standing was his muscular backside.

"I see my enemy..." Heero replied in a calm, steady tone; "never a future," he mumbled quietly, bowing his head down. "We have no future, Duo," he added somberly and then walked out into the hallway. The automatic door closed behind him and Duo was left alone in the showers.

Back then he didn't know whether Heero was being his usual fatalistic self, telling him that they probably won't make it out alive, or was he saying that there was no future for them as a couple, but years later the answer was obvious. Heaving a hopeless sigh, Duo turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He glared at his older-self in the mirror. Heero had decided long ago that there will be no future for the two of them, so why was he still hoping that he'd change his mind?

*     *     *

Local L2-TV wouldn't stop talking about what happened down at The Pit. One newscast after the other... again and again... the same story from every possible angle. Three days have passed but the wound was still fresh, still bleeding, and the media was refusing to put a stop to it. Even the usually cheerful morning shows no longer dealt with eggnog recipes or how to make your own Christmas decorations, rather they too were grinding the story to death, interviewing bereaved parents, law enforcement widows, social workers and various therapists with advice on how to get youngsters out of trouble before it was too late and whatnot. It was a disgusting media festival one couldn't avoid watching.

Duo sat on the floor between his couch and the coffee table, smoking and drinking, and watched a surgically-enhanced blonde babe with a permanent Botox smile trying to look serious while discussing the tragedy with her morning panel of yammering assholes. There was a bottle of Jameson whiskey on the coffee table, nearly half-empty, along with an array of empty beer cans, an open pack of Winston Blue and pizza leftovers still in the box. Duo held a can in his hand, a smoke in the other. He took a sip, then a drag on his cigarette, his red-rimmed eyes glued to the television screen.

He hasn't slept in two days, ever since he came off the Magic. He was exhausted, angry, drunk and upset. He should have gone to work, but he hadn't. He couldn't. Not yet. All he could be bothered doing was to watch TV, constantly reminding him of his mistake, of his inability to save Joe's kid. Self-flagellation and self-pity were his sole company. He glared at the television screen hatefully, his hard expression full of contempt.

More footage of The Pit Massacre was being played on the morning news, one replay after another... throwing his faults in his face. He gulped down more beer. The news then switched to foreign affairs and images of the New York City murders were on his screen again, taunting him further with mistakes of the past.

The news was recapturing the events surrounding the deaths of the Redeemer's seventh victim. Once again he was forced to face images of a person that has haunted his dreams lately. It seemed that no matter where the media was shooting, agent Heero Yuy was always there, always in the background, always accompanied by a pretty redheaded agent. Right now they were shown working a crime scene in Lower Manhattan, speaking to witnesses in the background while a reporter stood in the foreground of the frame, speaking to the camera. Duo ignored him and focused only on Heero. The young agent was holding a small notepad and pen, speaking to a distraught young woman whose angry face was soaked with tears. He was writing down whatever she was saying.

Duo smirked darkly. Seven victims... seven people Heero had also failed. Yeah. That's right. Heero also made mistakes... too many to keep track of.

"You screw up too..." Duo rasped in a low, gruff voice worn by alcohol and fatigue. "You screw everything up! You're as screwed up as they come!" he growled nastily, slamming his beer on the coffee table. "You make mistakes... You screwed me over... screwed them over... us... _everybody!_ You made a mistake! You must have! You were out of commission for _fourteen months_ – you musta made a mistake!" He roared, jumping up to his feet, his long braid flapping behind him.

"You fucked up too!" he shouted passionately at the television, his chest burning... heart pounding wildly. "You must have!" he insisted, his cobalt eyes shining manically and watering with tears. Suddenly, all he wanted was to prove Heero wrong – at anything and everything. Heero _had_ to be wrong: about them, about Relena, about his work... about _everything_ from then to now. Heero _had_ to be wrong. He had made a grave mistake and breaking up was just one out of many mistakes. It had to be!

He hurried towards his bedroom and yanked his laptop from the dresser by the bed. Flopping down on the creaky mattress, he flipped the screen opened and booted it up, ready to tackle the Preventer database once again. He will find out what happened on Christmas AC 202. He will find a flaw... a mistake... proof that he shouldn't have put Heero on a pedestal for so many God damned years. Today, it shall finally end.

His fingers flew hastily and skillfully over the keyboard. He used every hacking skill he could recall from back in the day, but after over six hours of sifting through files and breaching heavy security protocols, he came up empty. Nothing mentionable seemed to have happened at around Christmas AC 202, not according to anything in Preventer's North American National Security Branch, which he knew Heero had worked for at the time. Even if something had been classified as top secret, there should have at least been a trace, a mention... something – even censored, but still... Yet there was none. That couldn't be right... could it?

Heaving a weary sigh, Duo fell back against the bed, landing on his back, the laptop still in his lap. He stared dully at the ceiling. He noted that his bedroom was now dark. Evening has fallen and he hadn't even noticed. He felt drained and parched; hours of hacking finally catching up with him. The anger had dissipated after hours of hard, useless, work, leaving him numb inside.

What happened back in AC 202? What caused Heero to leave Preventer for over a year if there was no major security event? Christmas was also the anniversary of the end of the war, celebrated across Earth and Space since Christmas AC 195 (with exception of the AC 196 Incident). It was a hard time for many, always bringing back unwanted memories. This upcoming holiday, just a few days away, would mark the eighth anniversary. 202 had been the sixth, but what was so special about that certain anniversary? Could it be that Heero had some sort of meltdown back then? Why then? Why not any other Christmas? Something _must_ have happened. It would require a lot to take Heero off duty for so long, and then sit him behind a desk instead of back on Operations. What was he missing? He had to know!

His laptop beeped. Duo frowned and sat up slowly, reopening the screen. There was a private message waiting there, even though he had no instant messaging software or account. He stared at it warily. The sender was N/A and the message read:You're back.

Duo's heart started racing, pounding with forbiddance. Someone was on to him again. Damn it. He should log off while he still could, but the next message made it impossible: Is this what you're looking for?

There was a link below. He hesitated for less than a second before clicking on it. A black and white document popped up. Duo took a deep breath, and read it:

**PROGRESS (SOAP) NOTES:**

December 26, AC 203, 13:30

**DR. D. WRIGHT**

**Preventer North America HQ**

**Washington DC**

**United States of America, ESUN**

**CC:** Agent Heero Yuy, 23-year-old male. Temporarily inactive since 12.27.202. Established patient with a history of abuse (abnormal childhood), PTSD and repeated suicide attempts. Medicated with stable symptoms of PTSD, survivor's guilt, depression and anxiety. Bereaved parent. Heavy smoker – quit smoking three weeks ago. Occasional drinker. No substance abuse. History of anabolic steroids abuse (involuntary) – clean for 8 years. Undergoing PT for left leg injury. Bi-monthly visits.

Final Fitness-for-Duty examination scheduled for 01.05.204

**Note: Seen on urgent basis at patient's request.**

**Significant Events over Past 48 Hours:**

\- Christmas & Peace Celebrations

\- 1 year since loss of only daughter

\- 1 year since **CLASSIFIED**

\- 8 years since **CLASSIFIED**

 

**(S) Subjective:**

* Vegetative symptoms:

\- Insomnia – severe

\- Loss of appetite – severe

\- Anxiety – severe

\- Lack of concentration/energy – severe

\- Headaches – severe

* Patient’s complaints:

\- Difficulty performing everyday tasks but coping has been more or less acceptable

\- Significant increase in alcohol consumption

\- Resumed smoking

\- Extreme situational sadness

\- Extreme anxiety when stressed

\- Increased distress related to the Holidays, **CLASSIFIED** and **CLASSIFIED**

* Requests:

\- Hold off return to active duty

\- Avoid hospital admission

 

**(O) Objective:**

* Vital Signs: BP (sitting) 115/70, P 86 and regular, Ht 5’11”, Wt 168 lbs

* Medication: Desyreltite Ludiphimil; Tytrocyline; Medomite Nytrine

**Mental Status Exam:**

*** Appearance:** good personal hygiene, appropriate dress and well groomed. Appears stated age.

 *** Behavior** : rigid posture and movement, psychomotor agitation

 *** Speech** : normal rate and tone, coherent

 *** Attention & Concentration**: impaired - unable to focus on serial 7s

 *** Thought Process** : logical

 *** Thought Content** : suicidal ideation, anxiety, flashbacks, nightmares; no homicidal ideation, no delusions or paranoia

 *** Mood:** dysthymic

 *** Associations** : intact

 *** Judgment** : good

 *** Recent & Remote Memory**: good

 *** Insight** : good understanding of the situation

 

 **(A) Assessment:**  

 *** Problem 1:** PTSD & Survivor's guilt

 **\- Comment:** Major relapse

 **\- Plan:** Increase dose of antipsychotic; write script

 *** Problem 2:** Depression

 **\- Comment:** Major relapse

 **\- Plan:** Increase dose of SSRI; write script

 *** Problem 3:** Anxiety

 **\- Comment:** Major relapse

 **\- Plan:** Same dose of SSRI

 

 **(P) Plan:**        

 ***** Follow-up in 3 days

 ***** Hold off on hospital admission unless symptoms worsen

 ***** Hold off on Fitness-for-Duty exam until symptoms stabilize

 

Duo gaped at the file in disbelief, his heart pounding painfully. As technical and clinical as the information was, he still felt awful; like he had peeked straight into Heero's agonized soul without permission. He had violated something sacred... and it hurt.

The file said that Heero had lost a child... a daughter. A _daughter!_ And then he flipped out. Jesus Christ... Duo didn't know how he should feel about that. For now, he felt numb; terrible. There was a cry lodged in his throat, suffocating him. Heero had a daughter... and he had lost her. _Fuck_.

So something _did_ happen on Christmas 202. He had found the reference he's been looking for. He wished he hadn't, yet a nagging thirst to know more remained.

He tried to dig deeper into the database, using every hacking skill he had acquired many years ago, but they were long outdated. He couldn't uncover the information no matter what he tried. Discouraged, he leaned back onto the bed and heaved a tired sigh. He stared numbly at the laptop, at a loss. It was useless.

As though reading his grim thoughts, the computer suddenly gained a life of its own. Digits and code lines rushed up the screen at a staggering speed. Windows opened and closed far too quickly for him to grasp what was in them. A turmoil of software code flashed before his eyes, faster and faster until suddenly... it stopped. A single window remained open over a black screen. A video was loading. Duo leaned forward, holding his breath, and braced himself for what he was about to see. This _someone_ on the other side was throwing him a bone. Who and why... he didn't really care at the moment. He wanted answers... no matter what.

A title popped on the blank screen: _'The following footage is classified SCI and is to be cleared for viewing by authorized personnel only'_ [[i]] _._ The title vanished after a few seconds. The video buffer-counter began rising slowly from 28% to 75%. An image appeared on the screen; an unidentified blurry and pixelated mess of what seemed like a person. The buffer reached 95% and the video image cleared, though still frozen. It came into focus and Duo's breath caught in his throat; he choked.

He was looking at a still footage of Heero: battered, beaten, bleeding and badly bruised. The young man was sitting on a chair in some featureless room, stripped down to his socks and boxers. The illumination was dim, but it was more than enough to expose gruesome details. The entire right side of Heero's face was covered with hideous bruises; a disgusting staining of yellow, black, purple and blue. His right eye was swollen shut; sliced and clotted with dry blood. His hair was also caked with blood and plastered over the left side of his head, where a large gash was visible, cutting all the way down to his left temple and cheek. Blood sheeted down the left side of his face. His lips were split and bleeding. He sat still, looking at the camera through a single blue eye.

Looking down at his naked torso, Duo noted that it was glistening with sweat; bleeding, filthy and bruised. There was a huge sickly discoloration under his ribs, all the way down to his bare abdomen. His chest was littered with cuts; covered with black grime and blood. He was dressed only in a pair of blood-soaked boxer shorts. His bare legs were seriously injured; a large nail was jammed into his left kneecap, sticking out of an infected, blood-clotted wound. The sight was ghastly. Duo felt sick.

Sadly, the terrible injuries weren't the most appalling part of the brutal footage. What made Duo's heart sink down painfully were the two small children sitting on Heero's lap, one on each leg. They sat huddled against him, their small heads resting on each of his naked shoulders, faces hidden from the camera. He held them against him, his muscular yet bloodied arms wrapped around each small body, embracing them and supporting them so they won't fall. The one on Heero's left was a boy, his dark skin suggesting an African decent; the one on the right was a girl, her long blonde hair suggesting Caucasian. They couldn't have been more than two or three years old.

Duo gaped at the grisly image, unable to breathe.

The buffer reached 100% and the video started playing. Judging by the shaky footage, it must have been taken by a smartphone-camera. Sound and image quality weren't so great; there was a hollow echo when Heero finally spoke:

"My name is Heero Yuy," he croaked with a raspy, trembling, voice; "Badge number 72531101," his voice wavered; it was hard for him to speak. He sounded on the verge of tears. "I am speaking on behalf of...on behalf of the WF Liberation Movement." He paused to swallow, struggling to form the words. He took a deep breath and resumed his speech: "It's been fourteen hours and their demands have yet to be answered. There... there are only thre—"

A shot was fired. The little boy in Heero's arms jerked for a split second, before sagging lifelessly against him. Blood oozed from the back of the boy's small dark head. He had just been shot – executed.

Heero froze, utterly horrified. His one good eye and mouth gaped open in shock. His bruised face drained completely of color, twisting into a tortured, wretched expression. The little blonde girl started weeping loudly, shaking against him like a leaf in a storm. Her small face was buried in Heero's shoulder. He raised his hand up slowly from where it was wrapped around her trembling back and rested it over the back of her head, keeping it down and pressed against him so she won't look up. He gazed numbly at the camera, pausing for a moment, and then found his voice again, just barely:

"There... there's only... t-two of us... left..." he corrected with a shaky, cracking voice. He was trembling visibly, but still kept his one arm around the little boy's dead body and the other holding the weeping girl against him.

"Two out of thirteen," he stated bleakly. He paused again, inhaling a quivery breath, before he managed to continue: "I-if their demands won't be fully answered in the next hour—" A burly man entered the frame, his face concealed by a ski-mask. Heero stopped, gasping, choking on tears. The masked man pulled the dead little boy out of Heero's arm and dragged his small body across the floor, taking him away. Heero showed no resistance. Once his arm fell lifelessly at his side, no longer holding the little boy, Heero raised it up again and wrapped both arms around the little girl, steadying her on his injured lap, hugging her against his wounded chest. He held her tightly in a protective embrace, looked up again and leveled his one good eye with the camera.

"Please..." he pleaded weakly, a stream of helpless tears sliding down his one open eye; "...please... she's... she's my... Lena... are you there? She... she's our... you... you can't let her die here... I can't... I can't... there's nothing more I can give them...." he wept; his voice breaking with helpless hiccups as he fought to keep talking: "You... you have o-one hour left before... before..." he shook his head, struggling to keep talking coherently. "I'm next," he said, inhaling a gulp of air so he could speak steadily as he looked miserably at the camera.

"Once I'm... gone... you'll... you'll have another half hour to...  to ensure the release of... the release of all White Fang prisoners currently held on... on ESUN soil, and to... t-to secure safe passage for... for all WFLM activists in the DC area. Ninety minutes before they... they... before she... she will die... alone." Tears poured freely from his one open eye. "Please..." he let out a small, strangled sob, weeping pitifully; "I'm sorry..." he cried brokenly, sobbing louder; "I'm so sorry!"

The picture went black.

Duo sat rooted frozen to his seat, gaping dully at the blank screen.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't live with himself for witnessing what he just had.

Duo jumped off the bed and slammed the laptop screen shut. His heart palpitated strongly in his chest. He shouldn't have seen that... he shouldn't have seen it! Who was showing him all of this? Why!

It was a well-known fact that the ESUN's declared policy was to never negotiate with terrorists, but obviously they had, because Heero survived. And the girl didn't? Was she really Heero's and Relena's daughter?! If news of Relena Darlian's child was ever in the media, he should have put one and one together and figured it out!

Heero had lost his child that day. That must be why he was off duty for so long. Heero was the sole survivor of that incident... he had outlived his own child.

Duo fell down to his knees and gaped dully at the bed. His chest hurt and pulsed badly... about to explode. Damn... dammit!

" _Dammit!_ " he exclaimed loudly. He couldn't breathe... He couldn't... couldn't... shit... He bowed his head and covered his face in his hands.

"Fuck... Heero... dammit... Oh God... what da fuck..." he cried, shaking his head in denial.

How could he have missed something _this_ big, _this_ terrible? Could it be that the incident was all over the news but he had missed it on account of being too high to notice? How could he? People would have talked... like they were talking about The Pit. A dozen people butchered by extremists and no one knew? Not even a mention on Preventer's database? How could that be? It made no sense that the only insinuation of the tragedy would be in Heero's psychiatrist's file! Was there some sort of cover-up? Why? Because the ESUN negotiated? Relena must have stepped in... she must have. She was the one who made a mistake, not Heero.

"Jesus..." Duo breathed, shaking uncontrollably. He fell helplessly against the bed, caving under unbearable tragedy. Tears stung his eyes and he hurried to wipe them away before they spilled.

He reached for the laptop with trembling hands and slowly lifted the screen back up. The IM was still open. His fingers shook on the keyboard as he typed back a reply:

Who are you? Why are you showing me this?

A response was soon to come: An eye for an eye. I quenched your thirst for knowledge, now you quench mine.

He waited for a question to follow, but none came. His small bedroom suddenly felt awfully silent. He stared blankly at the screen, waiting. His mind numbed. He couldn't get the images he had just seen out of his head. It hurt so much to see Heero cry... he will never be able to get that sound of out of his head.

His cellphone started ringing. Duo jerked, startled, and whirled towards his bedside table, where his cellphone was laid. He hesitated for a moment, just staring at his phone, and then finally reached for it. The caller ID was an unrecognized number, but Duo was familiar with the area code digits: Earth, USA, NYC.

He inhaled a deep breath and answered the call. "Maxwell," he said firmly, trying to sound cool even though he was shuddering inside. There was no reply. The caller hung up.

*     *     *

 

 

[i] SCI: Sensitive Compartmented Information (AKA Top Secret)


	5. N/A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Heero's small Manhattan apartment stood silent, empty and undisturbed, as it usually was for most part of the day. The low buzzing of various appliances was the only sound typically heard between the bare walls. The slat-blinds over the large living room window were partially closed and only dim rays of sunset light filtered into the modest residence. The polished hardwood floor was spotless; evidence of how rarely it was stepped upon. Every surface was clean, not even a glass ring stain to be found. The kitchen countertop and sink sparkled like they had never been used. The only evidence of anyone ever using the apartment was the single Chinese takeout box resting on the worktop by the microwave oven; where it must have been eaten in a hurry, standing up.

The sounds of jingling keys, coming from the other side of the closed apartment door, cut through the heavy silence. A key was inserted into the lock. It turned, and the door opened. Heero stepped into the apartment carrying a small white paper bag bearing a green pharmacy logo. He was dressed in his black Preventer uniform; snowflakes piled on the khaki shoulder-patches of his jacket. A few white flakes were still caught in his brown hair, but most have already melted and dampened the messy strands, plastering them over his forehead.

He locked the door behind him and walked into the kitchen, his wet boots leaving footmarks on the dark hardwood floor. He threw the small paper bag on the counter and turned to shed off his wet jacket, revealing the khaki dress-shirt and black tie he wore underneath, as well as a handgun tucked into a concealment holster above his belt. He had been cleared back for duty.

Heero hung the jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and unfastened the holster, throwing it – and the pistol – on the worktop as well. He was about to turn to the small pharmacy bag, but then stopped and whirled back around to the discarded weapon. He stared at it for a moment, his expression torn, before he finally reached to take it out of the holster. He held the small handgun for a moment, looking at it wretchedly, and then walked over to the refrigerator. Reaching up, he placed the small firearm on the top of the fridge, nudging it towards the center until it was out of sight. He then walked back to where he had left the paper bag.

He opened it and pulled out three orange prescription bottles. He placed them in a row on the clean countertop and opened each one. He twisted the cap of the first and in a sudden clumsy slip of his fingers the small container slid from his grasp and fell to the floor, its contents spilling in a loud rattle, small blue pills rolling everywhere, scattering on the floor in a chaotic pattern.

Heero stared numbly at the mess at his feet, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an attempt to keep calm. He knelt down carefully, mindful of how much weight he was putting on his left kneecap, and began collecting the small pills back into the bottle. Once done he stood back up, only to bump the top of his head on the narrow countertop ledge. He cussed, hissing in pain and rubbing his head. He reached a hand up to grab the damn worktop – fist clutched around the traitorous ledge for support – and rose carefully to his feet, wavering slightly from side to side; he was feeling a bit woozy.

He sighed and resumed opening his prescriptions; a concentrated expression on his face as he struggled to coordinate stiff, clumsy fingers. Pouring himself a glass of tap water, he gulped his medications down one by one. Just as he was about to down the third pill, his cellphone beeped. He slammed his cup of water on the kitchen countertop and shoved a hand into his pants pocket, pulling it out. An SMS was waiting; it was from Merida: Guess we're back on. Eliot's, 2030 hrs. It's a pub. No dress code _._

Heero sighed irately and shoved the smartphone back into his pocket. He took the last pill and stomped out of the kitchen.

*     *     *

The clock screensaver on Heero's smartphone showed 21:07 just before the phone started ringing and the display changed to show the caller's ID: _'Agent Shaw'_. The sleek device was lying on Heero's bedside table. The bedroom was dark, aside from the soft blue halo the smartphone screen was now projecting on the ceiling. In this dim blue light, a shadowy figure could be seen lying in bed, concealed under thick covers, a head of short, messy hair sprawled over the pillow. As the ringing persisted, Heero stirred, moaning sleepily, and rolled over, now facing the nightstand. He reached a clumsy hand towards it, searching blindly for the phone while he struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids fluttered up and down lazily, refusing to remain open. His fingers found the smartphone, so he kept his eyes closed and brought the device up to his ear.

"...'ello?" he slurred with a sleep-heavy voice.

"Heero?" Merida's voice replied instantly; she sounded pissed. "Are you seriously _standing me up_?" she demanded harshly; "We were supposed to meet over half an hour ago!"

"Wha—what?" he muffled groggily, blinking repeatedly as he tried to open his eyes again.

"Eliot's, Heero," Shaw repeated, sighing. "We have a date. Baker's orders, remember?"

Finally managing to keep his heavy eyes open, Heero pushed up on one elbow. He stared blankly at the wall for moment and then cast his gaze back down, scowling.

"I uh... yeah..." he finally confirmed and threw the blanket aside, revealing a pair of boxers and tank top undershirt; "Sorry... I... I thought I... I was still off... off duty..." he mumbled as he struggled to sit up, having a hard time pushing off the bed. He flung two legs off the edge and planted both feet on the floor, using the movement as leverage to sit up.

"Heero, are you alright?" Merida's worried voice spoke to him through the phone. "You don't sound too good. You were sleeping, weren't you?"

"No, I... fine—" he cleared his throat; "I'm fine," he corrected in a steadier tone and stood up hastily, flinging a hand forward to grab the night table for support or else he'd tumble. His vision came in and out of focus; he was dizzy. He steadied himself, turned on the bedside light and hurried towards the dresser at the other side of the room. The smartphone was tucked between his ear and shoulder.

"I'll be there in twenty," he promised, yanking a drawer full of clothes open, and hung up.

*     *     *

He showed up at Eliot's – a small East Village pub – about half an hour later, stepping out of a yellow NYC taxi dressed sloppily in a pair of dark blue jeans, a plain black shirt, a shabby dark-brown leather jacket and ragged old Dirty Bucks shoes. There was a distinct five O'clock shadow on his stubbly face and his hair was a scruffy mess, betraying the obvious fact that he had just gotten out of bed and rushed down there. Merida was waiting outside in the cold, hugging her elegant coat tightly around herself, an angry expression on her made-up face.

"Sorry," he huffed as he approached and walked her to the door, keeping it open for her as she stepped in first. She sent him a quick glare, sighed, and walked inside.

The place was dim, stuffy and full of cigarette smoke. Low music was playing in the background. They got a seat in a private booth by a window overlooking the street, shedding their coats off and throwing them onto the brown leather benches. Merida was also dressed rather plainly: snug blue jeans and a purple blouse with just the right amount of cleavage. She could swear she caught him staring for a split second before a waitress came and handed them menus.

"Should we order a drink?" Merida asked as she skimmed hastily through the menu.

"We're on duty," Heero reminded her curtly.

"Well, I've been waiting out in the cold for over an hour," she snapped, "I'm getting a drink."

Heero placed his menu down. "Fine."

"Order one too," she instructed snappily; "It's supposed to be a date."

The waitress returned. Shaw ordered a Cosmopolitan cocktail and French fries on the side; Heero asked for a shot of Jameson Whiskey and a certain European beer. As they waited quietly for their order, he pulled out a pack of Winston Blue from his jacket, which lay at his side.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked while drawing a smoke out of the pack.

"That's why I picked the place," Merida informed him with half a smile. "Do you know how hard it is to find a place that doesn't ban smoking? That nasty habit of yours sure makes us easier to track down."

Heero nodded and lighted his cigarette. The waitress returned with their orders, placing a basket of greasy fries at the center of the table and handing each their drink. Heero took a small sip of beer and resumed smoking. Merida munched on some French fries and then turned to her drink. She stirred it absentmindedly with a straw, watching him dully.

"So... no more Skittles?" she finally opened in conversation, using a friendlier tone to declare a truce. She took a small sip from her cocktail and waited for his answer.

"What's the point," Heero sighed wearily and reached for his foreign beer bottle, holding his burning smoke in the same hand.

"I didn't take you for a quitter," she teased and he shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle and finishing with another drag on his cigarette.

"I pick my battles," he mumbled broodingly, paused to think, then shrugged and took another puff. "This one is not worth the effort," he concluded.

Merida snarled knowingly, seeing straight through his rationalized excuse. "Yeah, quitting is a bitch," she sneered teasingly.

They sat in silence for a while, she sipping her Cosmo quietly, staring at the table, while he smoked and gazed ahead solemnly.

"You never told me how you knew," Merida finally picked up the conversation.

Heero turned to look at her, frowning. "Knew what?"

"That he took the bait," she clarified. "That's why Baker managed to get you back in, right?"

He sighed quietly and cast his gaze back down. She watched him lift the cigarette back to his lips, take a long drag and release the smoke slowly.

"He contacted me," Heero finally said as he reached to shake his cigarette over an ashtray; "Sent me a message."

"He did?" she marveled, quite shocked; "Why? He never contacted any of the other victims."

Heero placed his burning smoke in the ashtray and reached for his shot of whiskey.

"I'm not just any other victim," he muttered and gulped down the shot, slamming the glass down on the table once done.

She frowned, confused. "Meaning what?"

Heero picked up his cigarette again and took another puff. He then helped himself to some French fries. After realizing that she won't get an answer out of him, Merida released a frustrated sigh.

"Well, what did he say?" she asked instead.

He took another sip of beer and the lowered the bottle down a bit, just enough so he could answer. "Nothing important," he said and raised the bottle for another sip. "Just letting me know he's there," he added once he placed the bottle back on the table. He had nearly finished it, as well as his smoke, which he turned to stub out in the ashtray.

Agent Shaw scowled warily; wrinkles forming on her freckled face.

"Would that be the night you collapsed?" she asked warily.

Heero took another cigarette out of the pack. He signaled the waitress for another shot of whiskey by pointing at his empty glass. She nodded to acknowledge. He lit up his second smoke and leaned back into his seat, avoiding Merida's eyes the whole time.

"There are rumors about you, you know," Shaw tried a different approach. That got his attention. His eyes shot up, sharp and piercing, pinning her gaze with his. He looked at her intensely, his expression giving away nothing. He took a puff on his cigarette, releasing smoke in her direction. "Are there now," he muttered cynically.

"I did some checking after our talk in the stairwell yesterday," she informed him bluntly; "Turns out you're even a bigger mystery than I thought."

The waitress returned with his second order of whisky. He gulped down the shot and placed it evenly on the table. He resumed smoking, finally turning to look at his partner again.

"What do they say about me?" he dared her in a challenging tone.

Merida shrugged, stirring her drink. "All sort of crazy things," she admitted and took a sip; "Hard to sift anything solid out of the madness."

He scoffed, smirking in an almost sultry manner. The alcohol was obviously starting to affect him, for he was loosening up.

"Story of my life," he groused as he brought the cigarette back up to his unshaven face.

Merida offered him a small, sympathetic smile. The silence resumed for a moment or two before she spoke again.

"Is it true you used to be with Senator Darlian?" she asked carefully, knowing she was approaching a touchy subject, but hoping that the alcohol would keep him talking.

"That's no secret," Heero muttered solemnly and reached for his beer, finishing it with a few quick gulps.

"She's the _'Her'_ on your phone, isn't she?"

Heero shoved the empty beer bottle aside and reached for some fries, clearly unwilling to either confirm or deny her guess.

"Rumor has it you two met during the war," she pressed on; "You must have been mere kids back then."

"Your point being?" he asked, annoyed, and stubbed out his second finished smoke into the ashtray. He reached for the pack lying over his jacket and drew a third cigarette out of the box. There was only one more left. He held the smoke between his lips as he lighted it up, his eyes still glaring at Merida fiercely.

"It's a well-known fact that she was involved with one of the Gundam pilots during the war," the redheaded agent pointed out boldly.

"So?" he muffled with the burning cigarette still tucked between his lips and shoved the lighter back into the box, thumping it shut violently.

"So you're guilty by association..." Merida whispered, leaning forward secretively. She looked him in the eye, holding his fierce gaze for a dramatic moment.

"You're one of them, right?"

Though he had just lit it, Heero stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray.

"We should leave," he said and stood up, pulling his wallet out of jeans' back pocket. He yanked out a few ragged bills and threw them onto the table, right next to his two empty shots of whisky and beer. He grabbed his jacket from the bench and turned to leave. Merida hurried to snatch her things and follow him before he made it out the door.

"I'm right, aren't I?" she called after him once they stepped into a quiet Manhattan side-street. "It sure explains a lot. Is this why it's all so hush-hush?"

Heero ignored the question. He slipped his tattered brown jacket on as he walked ahead of her, heading down the street towards a main road. She picked up her pace to catch up.

"Where are you off to?" she huffed, panting, struggling to keep up on a wobbly pair of high heels. He stopped abruptly and whirled back around to face her. There was a wild, haunted expression on his pale, stubbly, face. He looked utterly distraught. Merida froze in her tracks, not sure of what to make of his odd behavior. Then, in a flash, he suddenly shoved her against the nearest building wall, towering over her menacingly... so dangerously close, engulfing her with a cloud of sultry body heat mixed with the scents of cigarettes, leather and cologne. She could smell the alcohol in his shallow breath as he had her pinned between his firm body and the wall; literally stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Heero... what are you doing?" she whispered shakily, looking up into his ferocious Prussian blue eyes.

"We're being watched," he whispered back as he leaned forward slowly, a hand rising to push the collar of her coat aside gently. She gasped when his warm lips touched the hollow of her neck. She looked over his broad shoulder, her eyes shifting left and right frantically. She couldn't see anyone around to confirm his claim.

"No, we're not..." she whispered back and placed two hands on his taut chest, pushing him off her gently, not shoving him hard enough to make a scene – in case he was right – but enough to make point. Heero wouldn't budge though. He started nibbling her neck, slowly making his way up to her earlobe.

"Across the street..." he huffed quietly into her ear, his hot breath reeking of cigarettes; "The alley."

Her eyes shot up again, searching the alleyway at the other side of the road. There was no one there.

The palms of her hands were still spread across his firm chest. She pushed him off harder.

"There's no one there," she insisted; "I think you had a bit too much to drink... Looks like you can't really hold your liquor..." she tried to give him a graceful way out, laughing uneasily.

Heero drew back, frowning as he thought about it for a moment. "Usually I can..." he mumbled pensively and then ducked down to kiss her lips. Merida dodged him, turning her head aside.

"Why won't you stop before you do something you'll regret in the morning?" she suggested and pushed hard off the wall with the back of her foot, using it as leverage to finally break free. Heero stumbled a step backwards, still smirking cunningly.

"I've regretted far worse..." he droned the words out in a low, licentious, whisper. He tackled her into the wall again, flinging two arms forward against the wall, blocking her way from both sides. He leaned towards her, his eyes gleaming lustfully; it was an aggressive, dangerous kind of lust.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it..." he murmured, his lips hovering alarmingly close to hers.

For a brief moment, Merida simply stared meekly at his pale lips. Of course she had thought about it, she was only human, but that didn't go to say that she was willing to follow it through... and neither should he.

Her breath caught in her throat once she realized that although she didn't know him to be such a man, Heero suddenly struck her as someone capable of actually following such dark desires. There was always something dangerous brewing just beneath the surface of his cool and desolate façade; a frightening, bone-chilling darkness. Such turmoil would eventually drive anyone over the edge, especially when put under so much pressure. She realized with horror that Heero has actually admitted to not being himself on quite a few occasions lately. It then dawned on her just how dangerous her predicament was.

"Okay – I'm calling it a night!" she announced firmly and maneuvered away from him, ducking under his outstretched arm and moving away quickly. She ran towards the main road just a few feet away and waved her hand up to hail a taxi. A yellow cab stopped by her side in a matter of seconds and she hurried to yank the door open. She paused before entering and turned back to look at her partner.

"Go home, Heero," she ordered him in reprimanding tone. "Sleep it off," she added grimly; "I'll see you at the office," she finished with a tired sigh and stepped into the taxi.

Heero watched it drive off. For a long while after it was gone, he remained standing rooted to his spot, his eyes fixed on the empty road. Heaving a long sigh, he leaned back against the building wall and pulled out the cigarette pack from his jacket pocket. He drew the blue lighter and the last cigarette left in the box. He lit it up, glancing up at the alleyway across the street.

A figure was watching from the shadows; waiting.

Heero shoved the lighter and empty cigarette box back into his pocket. He remained leaning against the building wall and had his last smoke, droning-on on each drag so it would last. His eyes were focused on the figure in the alleyway the whole time.

Once the cigarette was about to run out, Heero pulled his smartphone out of his jeans' pocket. He held the burning butt in one hand as his other slid over the touch-screen and entered the contact list. He scrolled down, the names blurring together, until he reached the letter 'H'. He stopped on the name _'Her'_. His finger hovered above the name, never pressing it.

He raised the cigarette back to his mouth, taking one last drag before he had to throw it away. He stared at the contact name, his finger still floating above it, but never dialed. He was just about to put the phone away again, when his eyes caught the name underneath _'Her'_ , a new contact he could not recall inputting into his phone. The name read _'Him'_.

Heero scowled warily. He gazed at it for a minute long; the small butt burning away between his lips, close to scalding him. He pulled it out and held it between two fingers, never tearing his gaze off the strange new name.

He dialed.

A phone number appeared digit after digit on the dial-screen as the outgoing call went out: 0002-08744-54-991-6070. It was a mobile number: L2 cluster, colony 08744. A second later, a familiar male voice answered: "Maxwell."

Aghast, Heero hung up and shoved the cellphone back into his pocket. He looked up at the alley again. The figure was still there, still watching.

The burning butt was scalding his fingers. The stinging sensation finally registered and Heero hissed in pain, letting it go. The butt fell to the ground, raising one last column of smoke before burning out completely.

Heero looked up again, his eyes seeking the figure in the dark alley. There was no one there. He stood unmoving, waiting, watching the shadows for movement. There was none.

His hand reached by reflex into his jacket before he recalled that he had left his apartment in a hurry, leaving his gun on the fridge. Wincing at his own stupidity, Heero pulled his smartphone out again, his fingers skimming hastily through the contact list until he reached the name _'Agent Shaw'_. He hesitated a moment, glancing up at the dark alley, and then back at his phone. He dialed.

A few dozen blocks away, Merida was seated at the back of a taxi. When her cellphone rang, she took it out of her purse and read the caller ID: _'Agent Yuy'_. She rolled her eyes, scoffing irately, and hung up the call with a violent press of her finger. She thrust the phone back into her purse, shaking her head in disappointment.

The call disconnected. Heero gaped wretchedly at his cellphone. He sighed. Of course Shaw wasn't going to answer him after tonight...

He looked up at the alleyway again. It was still empty; no sign of the shadowy figure... but Heero knew he was there.

His fist clenched around his phone. He turned his head left and right, searching for movement. The street was empty and dark, aside from the electric purple lights projected by _Eliot's_ neon sign a few dozen feet away. It was hard to see. Heero turned to look in the direction of the main road, which was lit far more brightly. He pushed off the wall and started walking towards it, his pace quickening with each urgent step.

Cars, buses, motorbikes and taxis rushed up and down the busy main street. Traffic flowed in a steady stream well into the wee hours of the night. From time to time people stepped out of the dark side-street, leaving Eliot's as the hours ticked by and morning approached. Friends, couples and singles – drunk and sober alike – they all walked out into the busy street to hail a taxi, departing safely.

Heero, however, never made it out to the main road.

*     *     *

Kneeling by his bed, Duo gaped dully at his phone long after the mystery caller hung up. His heart was still pounding strongly in his chest. He was certain that he was about to get another call from the same eerie man who had called after his first hack into the Preventer database, yet this time all he managed to hear was a quick gasp before the caller hung up.

His eyes traveled back to the laptop lying open on the bed in front of him. The last IM still displayed on the screen:An eye for an eye. I quenched your thirst for knowledge, now you quench mine.

Duo reached uncertain fingers towards the keyboard. He typed a reply: Was that you?

The cursor blinked over a blank screen for a moment before a response came in: That was a test.

To learn what?

This time, the reply took much longer to appear.

I'll be seeing you soon, it read, and the IM window switched closed. Duo was now staring at a black screen. His laptop has been turned off remotely. His bedroom fell completely dark.

Duo stared ahead dazedly. Someone was fucking with him.

He lifted his cellphone up again and entered the call log. The small screen shed eerie pale light on his face; shadows emphasizing his grim features. He stared at the number of the latest incoming call. He dialed and raised the phone slowly to his ear, a numb expression on his face as he waited. No answer; the call was disconnected on the second ringing tone.

*     *     *

In a dark and featureless room, a pair of male hands wearing latex gloves carefully folded dark blue jeans, a plain black shirt, a white tank top undershirt – its collar soaked with blood – and a shabby dark-brown leather jacket into a neat pile laid on a plain wooden table. They placed a pair of ragged old Dirty Bucks shoes on top of the pile and tucked a folded black sock into each shoe. They then gently placed the garments inside an open UPS box.

One gloved hand reached for a small black leather wallet resting by the box. It picked it up and flipped it open to reveal the driver's license inside the ID window – Heero's license. The wallet was then placed carefully between the two shoes.

The latex-covered hands turned to pick up one last item from the table. It was a small plastic zip-bag. The inside of the bag was smeared with blood and in it were a bloodied molar-tooth and a tiny electronic chip. The bag was placed inside the box as well.

The hands closed the UPS box, took a thick black marker and wrote:

_'Ms. Relena Darlian, 23 D ST SE, Capitol Hill, Washington DC 20003'_

*     *     *

Even after a third sleepless night, not going to work the next morning was simply out of the question. Duo showed up at the station bright and early, determined to get some answers. He will not be played with anymore. Whoever was out for it – they now had his full and undivided attention. Someone was trying to thrust him back into Heero's life and he was going to find out why... and then he was going to fucking _kill_ the bastard! He didn't ask for this... and chances were that neither did Heero.

He started off by searching for more information about the 202 DC Incident. He browsed through news archives and law enforcement databases, trying to find a trace of a major event that happened at the time. It was tedious work, which mostly lead to one dead end after the other. There was nothing about a major terrorist attack in Washington DC back in December AC 202; not on the news, not in the police and emergency services records... and most puzzlingly – not even in Preventer's most classified reports. No matter where he dug or how deep, he couldn't even find a trace of the video he had been shown.

After hours of rummaging through government databases, he returned to examine various press releases. None of them mentioned anything remotely close to what he was looking for. There was, however, one small headline that caught his eye. It was a local high-school paper in the DC area that dedicated a small article – barely a few sentences long – to a fire that broke out at a private house party in a Capitol Hill neighborhood on Christmas Eve AC 202. It was a mere drop in an ocean of information, nothing more than a footnote in some high school news blog, but one specific detail singled it out from the rest: there were eleven casualties: men, women and a three-year-old boy. _Bingo._

Duo smirked and leaned back into his creaky chair, stretching his arms over his head. He cracked his knuckles as he gazed smugly at his computer screen. Someone hadn't done a good enough job keeping a tight lid on the press, neglecting the amateur releases.

He stared lengthy at the short article, his eyes never leaving the number '11'. Eleven people had allegedly perished in that fire... not thirteen. That must mean that both Heero and his... daughter... had made it out alive. She survived. Duo was even more relieved than he thought he'd be.

But then... why did Dr. Wright's notes mention that Heero was a bereaved parent? Was that also part of the cover-up? Why? That didn't make any sense. Why write her off as dead?

He was missing something. Someone had obviously picked up on this careless trail of breadcrumbs and was trying to show him that something was amiss... but what? And why bring this information to him? Why draw his attention to what happened in DC? Why hint at what was happening in New York? Could this have anything to do with that _Redeemer_ psycho? What possible connection could there be? The only common factor he could think of seemed to be Heero. And now that he thought about it: why put a former counterterrorism operations' agent on a criminal investigation? Why was Heero cleared for field duty just as the Redeemer started his killing spree? Someone was making sure that he'd notice all of these abnormalities – why?

He decided to look deeper into the Redeemer's murder victims. As a cop, he had little trouble entering NYPD's database. The information was abundant: The killings started about three months ago. There were seven victims so far, with no common factor to point at a certain pattern: different age groups, sex, occupations, kidnapping locations... they all varied with each victim. It seemed that the killer was hunting at random. NYPD's initial reports suspected that they were dealing with blitz attacks rather than premeditated killings. There was no telling where the killer would strike next, which made him impossible to catch.

There was a definite ritual, so it was safe to assume that it was always the same Unknown Subject behind the murders. The Unsub kidnapped his victims, tortured them and then forced them to call a loved one to say goodbye. The victims were tortured further and then finally killed by a gunshot to the head – execution style. The bodies were dumped someplace close to their home so the family would find them. There was always a blindfold around their eyes when they were found. After the fourth victim, Preventer intervened, sending BAU agents and later two of their CID field agents: Shaw and Yuy.

Duo decided to follow a hunch. He extracted the names of the eleven who perished in the 202 DC "fire" from the MPDC database, and crossed-referenced the scarce details with those of the Redeemer's victims listed in the NYPD database. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find parallels:

 

**Melissa Mendez, age 22, Latin, American: Perished in DC "fire".**

**Jessica Gomez, age 22, Latin, American: The Redeemer's first victim.**

 

**Michael Lee, age 34, Asian, American: Perished in DC "fire".**

**Jason Wang, age 34, Asian, American: The Redeemer's second victim.**

 

**Cassandra Maes, age 28, Caucasian, EU citizen visiting from Belgium: Perished in DC "fire".**

**Alexandra Janssens, age 28, Caucasian, EU citizen visiting from Belgium: The Redeemer's third victim.**

 

The pattern was the same for all seven murder victims; they each shared the same sex, age and ethnic origin of one of the DC victims. The resemblance was too uncanny to be ignored. Duo was willing to put his money on it that if he looked deeper into the victims' profiles, he would find more similarities, such as occupation and marital status. Furthermore, he was certain that the Redeemer was killing his victims in the same order the DC hostages were executed. That would mean that the eleventh victim will be a three-year-old boy... and what would be of Heero?

"Jesus Christ..." He exhaled uneasily and leaned back into his chair, tapping a pen on the desk nervously. No wonder Preventer stepped in... Someone with enough knowledge of the DC Incident has figured it out. That was why they transferred Heero to the CID... that was why he was on the case. Fuck. The son-of-a-bitch was on a suicide mission again!

His cellphone was lying by the keyboard. Duo reached for it and entered the contact list, where he had stored the New York area mobile number from last night. He had listed it under the name _'N/A'_. His finger hovered above the contact-name for a doubtful moment, and then he dialed. This time, the call was directed straight to voicemail. Duo's heart nearly came to a full stop when the recording of a familiar, quiet and monotonous voice started playing:

"You've reached agent Yuy," it said; "State your name, number and purpose of your call." The curt message was followed by a beep.

Duo hung up quickly, his hand shivering. He placed the cellphone back on the desk, his expression numb.

"Holy fuck..." he whispered anxiously, unable to shake off the dreadful feeling twisting his gut. Heero tried to call him last night. He actually tried to contact him! Could it be that, for the first time in eight years, he finally had something to say? Something must have happened; something... bad.

The landline phone on his desk suddenly started ringing.

"Jesus!" Duo exclaimed, jolting in alarm. He was far too tense; his heart still palpitating. He straightened in his seat, ran a hand through his long bangs and reached for the receiver. He paused for second, inhaling a deep breath, and picked up the call.

"Maxwell."

He was answered by a female voice. "Detective Maxwell, hello," she greeted briskly; "I'm agent Merida Shaw of Preventer's NYC Field Office. Can we speak?"

Duo's heart sank painfully, crashing into his ribcage. Damn it; he had a bad feeling about this. It couldn't possibly a coincidence that this phone call came just as he had unraveled the truth about the killings. Someone out there was carefully orchestrating the whole thing. He was a pawn in a game, but to what end?

"Sure," he said as casually as he could manage, attempting to sound as ignorant as he was supposed to be; "What can I do for you, agent?"

Agent Shaw heaved a despaired sigh. "Hopefully... help save my partner's life," she declared dramatically. "I have reason to believe you know him... Heero Yuy."

Duo grimaced; his fears confirmed. Something happened to Heero.

"Yeah... I knew him... once," he mumbled, sighing; "How do you know about it?"

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, before Shaw spoke again.

"I think someone wanted me to," she said, hesitating; "To be honest, I was following a hunch calling you. Looks like I was right. You were also one of them, weren't you?"

His heart started racing again, as it often did when someone was onto him and his past as a Gundam pilot. Then again, after so many years, he should have learned to get the surge of panic under control.

"We were partners, yeah," he confirmed quietly. "But what does it haffta do with anything?"

"I believe that you're far more qualified to answer that question, detective," Shaw replied forlornly; "Right now I need you to get on the next flight to New York City. We don't have much time."

*     *     *

Duo got on the first available flight leaving the L2 Cluster for Earth. Being a commercial charter flight, he was looking at a 36 hour trip, with a stop on the Moon to change connections headed for New York City. Sitting in a window-seat, he gazed out at the distant stars, as he had been doing for the past hour since the shuttle left the L2 spaceport. His troubled expression reflected on the cool glass.

He remembered looking out at the stars in a rare moment of tranquility during his last mission with Heero; their last flight together. They were headed to colony L3 X-18999 in an attempt to stop the brewing incursion threatening Earth, and rescue Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian, who was kidnapped by a terrorist faction – remnants of White Fang – threatening to carry out the original Operation Meteor. That was one Hell of a trip. A final, epic, mission... followed by a heartless goodbye.

They never made it out X-18999 together. Last he had seen Heero standing on his own two feet they were standing in X-18999's Command Information Center after stopping the colony's decent to Earth. The young Wing-ZERO pilot had then punched him in the stomach brutally, rendering him unconscious so he won't become a liability as he ran off to rescue _her_.

But before all that, for a few precious hours on that shuttle headed for L3, Heero was all his... with nowhere to run. If he had known that it would be the last quiet moment he would ever get to spend with Heero, he would have passed the time differently, not just stared out the window, daydreaming, while the autopilot was in control and Heero slept at the helm. He recalled that he did try to say something – it was too long ago to remember what exactly – but those words were also left unsaid the moment he noticed that Heero was asleep. He didn't have the heart to wake him and simply settled for the guilty pleasure of gazing upon the rare sight of Heero's lax features... almost innocent in sleep.

He remembered thinking that Heero was beautiful. He remembered thinking that once their latest ordeal would be over they will have all the time in the world to say all sort of things to one another. He remembered thinking that if Heero was taking him along to rescue Relena then there was no more need to fear that he will be running off to her once everything was over. And he remembered the heart-shattering punch to his gut the moment Heero decided to leave him behind and take off on his own. He had collapsed into Heero's sturdy arms, his heart crumbling to pieces on the floor of X-18999's CIC. As his world faded to black and Heero's distant voice whispered something in his ear, he knew that nothing Heero said would ever matter... Relena had won.

Duo heaved a long, miserable, sigh and finally tore his gaze away from the window. He reached a hand into his jeans' pocket and pulled out his cellphone. The device was working on flight-mode. He entered the contact list and scrolled down to the name _'N/A'_. He pressed _'edit'_ and changed the name to _'Heero'_. He hit _'save'_.

*     *     *

 


	6. MO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Thirteen hours later and after a decent enough sleep, Duo stepped off the space shuttle and onto the Moon Spaceport's platform, carrying a small and tattered duffle bag. He headed tiredly towards the connecting-flight terminal. A shuttle will be leaving the moon for Earth in about two hours and would only arrive to his destination in about twenty more hours or so. By the time he'd make it to New York, it might already be too late. That was why he hated flying commercial. Back in the day he would have been able to make the trip in half the time; one of the few perks of having a whole militia backing you up.

Dressed casually in blue jeans and a black leather jacket, Duo could have blended easily with the hordes of people moving through the massive spaceport, if not for his unusually long braid. Tired and troubled as he was, it never even occurred to him that he was being followed. Two men were tailing him within the crowd; burly and grave-looking individuals dressed in black suits were following the swinging motion of his braid in a dangerous game of tag. As Duo turned towards the elevators, one of them quickened his pace to catch up, flung a hand forward and grabbed Duo by the shoulder, stopping him before he entered the crowded elevator.

Duo halted immediately and whirled back around, scowling warily.

"What da fuck man!" he exclaimed tensely.

"Mister Maxwell," the one who had grabbed him by the shoulder said; "I apologize for startling you, but I need you to come with us."

"Da Hell I will!" he called and recoiled two steps away, taking an offensive stance.

The man sighed and reached into his blazer. Duo tensed; fists and jaw clenching. The man pulled out a badge and presented it to him. Duo relaxed. It was a Secret Service badge.

"We have a private shuttle waiting for you," the agent said; "You'll be in New York in less than eight hours."

Duo frowned, studying the badge for a moment longer before handing it back to the agent.

"And to whom do I owe this pleasure?" he asked gruffly.

"She said you'd know," the agent replied cryptically. "Now, sir, if you you'll follow us..." he gestured at the other way, where the second agent was waiting.

"We haven't much time."

Duo sighed. "Sure," he muttered, hoisting his duffle over his shoulder; "let's put the tax-payer's money to some good use..."

*     *     *

Exhausted and disheveled after a long commute, Duo stepped out of the backseat of a black SUV parked in front of Preventer's NYC Field Office. He was escorted by the same two secret service agents he had met on the moon. They stood next to him, one on each side, and walked into the building. His foot tapped restlessly on the elevator floor as it made its way up to the eleventh story, the Criminal Investigation Division, where he was shown to a small briefing room at the end of a long gray hallway. There, seated by a long meeting-room table, was ESUN's senator Relena Darlian, and a young redheaded Preventer agent Duo recognized from TV. She was the first to get up and greet him, reaching a hand forward.

"Detective Maxwell," she welcomed him; "Thank you for coming all this way."

Duo shook her hand halfheartedly, his glaring cobalt eyes fixed on Relena the whole time.

"Sure," he mumbled and pulled out a chair. He settled into it tiredly, fluffing his long bangs up and heaving a weary sigh. "I'm gonna need some coffee. Black. Strong."

Agent Shaw nodded. "Of course," she said and walked to the door; "I'll be right back."

A tense silence fell over the small meeting room. Duo and Relena remained seated at opposite sides of the table and did their best to avoid each other's eyes while still trying to steal curious glances at one another. Last they had seen each other they were still teenagers. Now adults, they had both grown taller, their facial features were harsher and the look in their eyes has darkened considerably. One quick glance was enough to determine that she was no longer the prissy blonde girl he had always taken her for, and he was no longer the smirking God of Death hiding behind the deceitful mask of a court jester.

Their eyes accidently met and they both realized that they've been caught staring. They hurried to look away. Duo cast his gaze down to his hands, fiddling with his fingers.

"Guess I should thank you for that shuttle," he mumbled somberly.

"There's no need," she replied evenly; "I didn't do it for you."

He nodded, his eyes miserable. "Yeah... I know."

Agent Shaw returned to the room, carrying two steaming paper coffee cups. She handed one to Duo – coffee, black – and the other to Relena – coffee, with cream. She then took a seat in a chair situated midway between the two of them and crossed her hands, fingers entwined, over the table.

"I suppose I should start from the beginning," she said, sighing.

"You may begin by telling us what we're both doing here," Relena suggested firmly; her tone leaving little room for objection. "How does any of this help Heero?" she demanded; "You should be out there looking for him instead of talking to us."

Shaw felt their demanding eyes on her and bowed her head down sorrowfully. "We wouldn't even know where to start," she mumbled; "You saw for yourself, Senator, the Unsub removed the tracking device we implanted... there's no telling where he is. Right now, gathering you both here is our best chance."

"Wow, wow, back it down a little, will ya?" Duo interjected heatedly; "How about you fill me in on a few things first?"

Shaw nodded. "Of course," she agreed; "I think it would be best if I just told the whole thing," she offered, looking up at Relena for consent.

Relena nodded, giving her the go-ahead.

Merida inhaled deeply and began filling them in:

"You must have heard about the Unsub everyone calls the Redeemer," she said and they both nodded to confirm.

"He started killing about three months ago," Shaw continued; "The diverse victimology made it extremely difficult for NYPD to catch him. It was impossible to tell where he would strike next or what kind of victim he will be after. There was no indication of sexual assault, but the torture was clearly sadistic. The lack of sexual preferences also made it hard to determine if the Unsub is male or female... but since female serial killers typically stick to the same MO and victimology, we are fairly certain that he's a man.

"His ritual was always the same. He kidnapped someone with no witnesses, even though they were all taken from public places. He tortured his victims and then forced them to call a loved one to say goodbye. He killed them with a gunshot to the head and dumped their bodies where their loved ones will be sure to find them, always putting a blindfold over their eyes. You see, it's not enough that he tortures them. He has to extend the pain and suffering to their loved ones as well as a way to display complete control and dominance over his victims. His goal is to terrorize and to make a statement. He has captured the public's fear and imagination. The media was having a field day."

"No shit," Duo muttered, leaning back in his seat. He reached for his coffee. "It's all people talk about up there." He gestured with his eyes up at the ceiling and raised the hot beverage. "News of _trouble in paradise_ get real popular in space," he snarled and sipped some black coffee.

Shaw ignored his nasty comment. "The blindfold had the cops puzzled at first," she resumed her explanation; "It was initially assumed that the killer felt some degree of remorse, that he didn't want the victims to see him when he executed them, but that profile changed as soon as Preventer stepped in and the BAU had a look at the case. Their conclusions put the investigation on a different track," she paused for a moment, letting it all sink in, and continued:

"The Unsub is killing in a major urban setting, which indicates high intelligence. This is _not_ a random killing spree. Since he hunts at night, it means that he must have a steady day job. His attacks are well organized. He picks the kidnapping location beforehand... stalks his victims and waits for the right time to make his move. Everything is too controlled to be a random blitz attack. He picks his victims for a reason... one I only became aware of recently... when Heero was taken."

"You're talking about what happened in DC," Duo deduced easily. Both Shaw and Relena turned to look at him, stunned.

"You know about that?" the redheaded agent marveled and Duo's face hardened into an offensive glare.

"The son-of-a-bitch wanted me to," he revealed; "He's been laying the grounds for whatever game he's planning for quite a while."

"You mean he's contacted you?" Shaw asked warily

Duo nodded. "Yeah. Been nagging me for a while now... I just couldn't figure out who or why."

"But he sent the package to me," Relena finally spoke up, confused.

Duo turned to her. "What package?"

The young senator sighed and cast her gaze down. "Heero's clothes," she said sadly; "A UPS courier delivered them to my home yesterday. That's how I knew..."

Shaw nodded uneasily. "Those were the clothes he was wearing the night he was taken," she elaborated; "The Unsub was trying to get you both down here before I even noticed anything was wrong." She cast her eyes down shamefully. "Heero has developed a bad habit of showing up late... he was having trouble sleeping. I didn't figure out he was missing until I tried to call him the next afternoon. The Unsub could have taken him anywhere by then."

A long, tense silence fell over the small meeting room. Relena finally turned to drink her coffee, her gaze fixed on a vague distant point ahead. Duo tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.

"This is a game," he finally broke the edgy stillness. "He's fucking with us... why?"

"It's hard to say," Agent Shaw replied; "His MO has changed... He hasn't been following the same ritual when it comes to Heero."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened in 202?" Relena asked and placed her beverage back on the table.

"It would seem so." Shaw said and looked up at the young senator. "I suppose that it would be redundant to fill you in on the DC details," she deduced.

"I probably know more than you do," Relena agreed with a weary sigh. "God... how come I didn't see it sooner?" she mumbled, starting sadly at the table. "I should have..." she heaved another miserable, helpless sigh, shaking her head sadly; "Why else would he torture himself over this one particular case..."

"I thought that whole damn thing was top-secret," Duo intervened.

Agent Shaw nodded to confirm. "It is," she said; "which is why it took us so long to connect the dots. It wasn't until we started to suspect that we could be dealing with someone on the inside that some of the details about the DC Incident were finally revealed to the investigation team."

"You thought it was a cop," Duo accused, scoffing insolently; "NYPD... you were tagging them, weren't you?"

"At first," Shaw confirmed; "The BAU's profile suggested that the Unsub is someone overworked, undervalued, underpaid... used to being unnoticed and most likely a victim of a violent crime himself, or someone close to him fell victim to such a crime. He blindfolds his victims' corpse to send a message – he is indicating Lady Justice. We couldn't rule out the possibility that he's a cop... or even one of our own."

"Someone who found out what happened in DC?" Relena tried to clarify.

Shaw turned to her, nodding her head. "He was blaming us for the cover-up, but at the same time his use of the Lady Justice imagery helped to confirm that we are most likely dealing with someone who works in or around the criminal-justice system," she elaborated; "Whoever he is, this killer has convinced himself that he has a mission, a high purpose – he will expose the truth. He has developed an inflated sense of duty and assigned himself a personal mission to take justice into his own hands. He got more confident with each kill, moving onto higher profile victims, growing up to a climax. He started choosing his victims out of our ranks... like punishment. He seeks retribution on the victims' behalf and to finally get some recognition for his actions."

"That's why he forces his victims to call a loved one..." Relena realized with horror; "He's giving them the chance to say goodbye... unlike the hostages who died in DC."

"It would seem so, yes," Agent Shaw agreed. "As it turned out, there were distinct similarities not only between the victims of both tragedies, but we also in the messages the Redeemer's victims were forced to make before they were killed. A close study of their choice of words suggested that they weren't their own, some of it was scripted. They were forced to repeat the same words the DC victims said on the countdown video they had to make one hour before their execution. None of the videos the terrorists broadcasted to Preventer ever made it to the families. No one was supposed to know. That rang some alarm bells. It was obvious that we were dealing with an insider. The Unsub wanted Preventer to notice his sick homage. He's playing with us. We suspect that he won't stop until he reached eleven victims and then who knows what other missions he will take upon himself."

"But why is he so focused on what happened in DC?" Relena inquired.

"Yeah," Duo agreed; "It's not like there ain't plenty of other tragedies to choose from..."

"It's hard to say," the redheaded agent explained. "An Unsub kills to satisfy a deep inner need... sometimes the need driving him is a mystery even to the Unsub himself. Such a killer won't stop until that need – which is based on a certain ritual – will be lived out perfectly. But reality never lives up to fantasy, especially when he's unclear about what that need is exactly, so it's practically impossible to fulfill that need."

"That's where Heero came in," Duo reasoned and Shaw nodded to verify his guess.

"As the only living survivor of the DC Incident, he was the perfect bait, a real part of the fantasy the Unsub is reenacting. We tried to lure him away from an accurate reenactment of all eleven killings by offering him the grand prize, the real thing. Heero was put on the case and we made sure that he will always be in the background, just enough to catch the killer's eye. We even tried to provide the ground for the whole ritual, providing a significant other – me. Heero and I pretended to be together for about two months now. We made stalking us easy. We were hoping that it would lure the Unsub to make a quick move, make a mistake while trying to grab his prize. We wanted to give him an offer he couldn't refuse..."

"And it blew up in your fucking face!" Duo grunted furiously. "Your fancy plan didn't factor in that Heero might actually get caught!?"

"We took precautions," Agent Shaw assured him, though her voice lacked confidence; "including implanting a small dental chip so we could track him down quickly in case the worse happened..."

"But none of it worked," Duo hissed.

Shaw lowered her gaze down shamefully. "Heero is a very capable agent," she murmured; "Usually, he wouldn't have had a problem defending himself, but..."

"But?" Relena demanded harshly.

Shaw heaved a miserable sigh. "He hasn't quite been himself lately," she said; "He admitted his unusual behavior on a few occasions, but none of it seemed significant at the time..."

"What do you mean he wasn't himself?" Relena asked worriedly.

"The case was affecting him, big time. He was having a hard time coping. Heero insisted that he was fine, but I could tell. He got negligent, moody... sometimes clumsy. He never complained about anything and there was a lot of pressure to keep him on active duty even if he wasn't mentally fit to handle it anymore." She sighed. "We went out the night he was taken. He was acting... strange. He claimed that we were being stalked, but I didn't believe him. I didn't see anything suspicious... I thought it was just the alcohol talking..." she shook her head sadly; "His judgment was clearly impaired," she stated cautiously, looking up to meet Relena's harsh eyes. "I told him to go home and sleep it off. I left him all alone out there... He was in no condition to retaliate."

A long, angry, silence fell.

"Why did you call us both here?" Relena finally asked, slumping tiredly into her seat. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. Duo also leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, still glaring angrily at Shaw.

"Our profilers are certain that the Redeemer's MO will not be the same when it comes to Heero," the agent explained; "The Unsub has been building up to this climax and now it's finally at hand. As the only significant people in Heero's life, he is going to keep playing with you, maybe even finally make a claim. He might try to get the media involved. He believes he is doing the victims of the original tragedy justice. They never got to say their goodbyes because of the cover-up. In his own sick and twisted way, he is trying to get their messages across. He might try to play Heero's kidnapping in that favor..."

"Heero never... never tried to say goodbye," Relena mumbled shakily and raised her arms up, hugging herself as though suddenly cold. Duo grimaced and looked the other way; haunted by images of the video he had been shown.

"I know," Shaw said; "I've read the file. They used him as their liaison."

"They demanded the release of eight hundred and forty-seven convicted terrorists," Relena said, staring numbly at the table. "It was a sacrifice no one was willing to make." She looked up at Shaw, her blue eyes haunted.

"Did you ever see what happens in countries like Israel when they release prisoners back into their homeland? The backlash is enormous. But even with public opinion aside, the security consequences were far too grave to even consider. We let those eleven people die. We had no choice... a cover-up was necessary. If people found out that we just stood idly by while ESUN citizens were being butchered... it would have been a disaster."

"But Heero made it," Duo pointed out; "With your daughter."

Relena nodded silently, avoiding his ruthless eyes. "They used him against me," she muttered under her breath. "They were threatening my daughter and the man I loved... I had to do something."

"You went _rogue_?" Duo gaped at her, stunned.

Relena kept her eyes down. "I sent in one agent... just one," she said and tears flooded her eyes; "The only one capable of stopping them... the only one who would be willing to fight for my family."

"Zechs," Duo realized, amazed; "You sent your brother in there."

Relena sniffled quietly and wiped away her tears. "Zechs used to be their leader... as much as he tries to put that behind him, that's still a fact. That placed him in a unique position... one no other agent could possibly fulfill. He went behind Preventer's back and extracted Heero and Elizabeth out of there before time was up. He was kicked out of the bureau for what he did. There was only so much Preventer was willing to overlook when it came to him. Une saw to it herself."

"God..." Duo exhaled, overwhelmed; "That's fucked up."

"He was only saving lives..." Shaw mumbled, also awed.

"No," Relena disagreed harshly and finally lifted her gaze off the table. "He was saving two particular lives," she corrected. "Zechs never would have managed or even tried to save all thirteen hostages. I knew that, and frankly, at the time... I didn't care. It was a deliberate and selective rescue – highly unacceptable. Zechs took the fall for me... claiming that he had acted on his own accord to save his nieces' life. They had to let him go for serious misconduct."

"And how is Zechs doin' these days?" Duo asked sternly, glaring at Relena. The young senator glowered back just as intensely.

"You're not seriously suggesting that my brother is behind this, are you?!" she demanded angrily.

"He certainly has a reason to hold a grudge," Duo pointed out.

"My brother is a lot of things, but he is not a psychotic serial killer," Relena hissed dangerously. "I won't hear of it, you hear?"

The silence returned to the small room; tense and angry. For a while, no one said a word, until Duo who broke the heavy silence:

"So... now what?" he asked, leaning forward on the table to get a good hard look at Shaw. "You brought us all the way here for a reason, right?"

"Uh... yes," Shaw mumbled, still quite shaken. "It's pretty obvious now that the Unsub hasn't bought our little charade... he knows I don't really mean anything to Heero. It's safe to assume that he will call one of you sooner or later. Our tech-team will put a wireless trace on your phones. Hopefully, we'd be able to trace the call to Heero's location."

"So we wait," Duo sighed and slumped back into the chair. "Great."

"We've set you up with a hotel room not far from here. We'll keep an active trace on your mobile phones the whole time, so keep in mind that someone is always listening when you talk. The second that bastard calls, we'll get him."

"You better," Relena warned and stood up swiftly, pushing her chair back. "Fail Heero one more time and I will personally see to it that you never work anywhere on Earth again," she threatened, turned on her heels and circled the table, heading for the door.

Duo glared angrily at Shaw for another tense moment, before he too rose from his chair and left the room.

He caught up with Relena further down the hall.

"Your daughter made it out of there," he stated quietly and she stopped, turning around to face him. Her face was pale as she waited for him to continue. Duo found that he was having a hard time looking her in the eye. There was so much hurt there... such grief. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"That bastard, he... I mean... he showed me..." he sighed, shaking his head, rephrasing; "He sent me this file... It said that Heero has lost a child."

Relena studied him mutely for a moment, her expression stony. "He has," she finally confirmed; "...we have," she corrected, sighing. "Two years ago. It was after the incident," she added mournfully. "It wasn't Heero's fault."

That said, she turned back around and headed for the elevator.

Duo stayed behind, paralyzed by grief. He couldn't breathe, suffocated by a heavy sense of angst. Heero had gone through all that shit... only to lose his daughter anyway. It was beyond heartbreaking. He could actually feel eight years of solid resentment dissipate slowly, no longer blocking his chest as it was melted away by warm, heart-wrenching sympathy. Hurt and betrayal gone, right now, all he wanted was to find Heero... and embrace him.

*     *     *

It was dark, and cold. He was naked... numb all over and drowsy; he's been drugged. Thick and tight leather straps held his limbs down, biting into his ankles and wrists. He was laid on a deeply reclining chair, much like at the dentist, tilted backward so he was nearly lying flat on his back. He could feel something plastered over his forehead, chest and limbs; it felt much like the EKG electrodes a nurse had attached to his torso at the hospital. He could feel the adhesive tape and lead wires scuff his cold skin.

Panic pierced his heart. The palpitations caused the floodgates in his mind to burst wide open and a tsunami of horrors washed over him at once; ghastly memories of torturous hours he had spent tied against his will to a similar apparatus; pricked, violated and prodded by a madman determined to shape him into the perfect fighting machine. His breathing became quickened, his palms began to sweat and anxiety kicked in. He writhed helplessly in his bonds; small, quiet and distressed moans escaping his parched lips. His mind was hazed; he wasn't even aware of the pathetic sounds he was making. The only thing his mind registered was the sharp, pulsating pain throbbing in his mouth where his molar tooth had been extracted. The entire lower left side of his face was badly swollen, abused flesh inflamed.

Somewhere further into the dark room, a door was opened. He could hear the hinges creak quietly. His breath hitched in his throat and he stilled. Someone was approaching.

He could only move his head, so he looked around anxiously, searching the darkness for his captor. A figure was moving in the shadows, slowly walking towards him. He couldn't make out its features, but the silhouette clearly belonged to a man.

A hand reached up into the blackness overhead, switching something on. Harsh, bright light suddenly projected from directly above him, hurting his eyes. He groaned in pain, clenching his eyes shut and turning his head away from the dental-chair-light raining mercilessly from above.

There was some clanking noises; the sound of medical instruments rattling softly. Cold fingers touched his restrained upper arm. He jerked, startled and afraid. The fear was uncanny; he had never felt so vulnerable in his life. He had been trained to handle it better, but none of the things he had been taught seemed to work anymore. His heart was too weak; defeated by burdens he could no longer bear.

He squinted against the bright assault and turned his head in the direction of the sound. He couldn't see the face of the man towering over him – the projector hid his head from sight – but he could see his hands. They were prepping a syringe, filling it with pinkish-clear liquid from a small vial. The needle gleamed under the harsh white light as it was raised up and some of the liquid was squirted out, testing the needle.

The man finally leaned down, lowering his head beneath the powerful lamp. Heero's face paled drastically and his eyes widened in fright, filled with affrighted recognition. He gasped, mortified by the face he saw.

The man placed the syringe back on the instruments tray. He picked up a chunky, rubber mouth-guard and turned back to Heero.

"Usually people consume this in its crystal form," he spoke to him with a low, eerily calm voice; "But I've prepared a real treat for you... a real... _magic potion_..." he added in dark amusement as he slipped the gag into Heero's mouth, to which he responded with sickly retching. The invasive object brushed against the sore, inflamed flesh from which his molar tooth had been extracted sloppily. Sharp pain flared up, sending vicious spiking tentacles into his left cheek and jaw. He groaned and clenched his eyes tight, hurting.

"Better than any drug you've been prescribed so far," the man continued smugly, ignoring his pain, and reached for the syringe. He placed the needle against Heero's bare upper arm, pricking the skin.

"It should help get us started," he promised, and the needle plunged in.

Heero thrashed in his bonds, muffling helpless sounds of distress through the gag, but to no avail. He could feel the icy liquid surging through his veins, spreading rapidly with each frantic heartbeat. Seconds later, he stilled, his body slumping lifelessly, sinking into the reclined chair. His head lolled limply to the side. His blue eyes glazed over; they stared lifelessly ahead, dull and oblivious.

The man turned back to the instruments tray. He reached a hand forward to pull another medical-supply cart closer to the chair. A device rested on top of it; a small rectangular machine bearing various dials, switches and meters. He turned a dial up and the machine came to life, humming and buzzing as voltage flowed in. The dial-meter needle traveled up. The man adjusted a few dials and then flicked on another switch.

On the chair, Heero's body jerked up violently, completely rigid. High electric currents coursed through his body, resulting in intense convulsions. His hands trembled wildly in their restraints, fingers twitching. His mouth clenched tightly around the mouth-guard. A grimacing, tortured expression twisted his pale and stubbly face. He screamed, but the anguished shriek was swallowed by the gag in his mouth.

*     *     *

The Holiday Inn NY-Soho was just a few blocks away from the Federal Plaza; a mere five-minute walk from Preventer's NYC office. Past midnight, the hotel lobby was dim, silent and empty. Christmas Eve was three days away and the lobby was decorated for the holiday. Only a night clerk worked the reception desk and a weary-looking middle-aged bartender manned the small hotel bar at the far end of the foyer. Slow and quiet music played in the background; mellow Christmas tunes filling the nightly silence with nostalgic melodies.

Duo sat hunched over the bar, his black leather jacket hanging from the bar-chair. He held a glass of whiskey on the rocks in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other. An open pack of Winston Blue and a lighter rested next to an ashtray in front of him on the bar. He raised his drink for a sip and then took a drag on his smoke, staring ahead broodingly.

The bartender had repeatedly asked him not to smoke in the lobby, but he had sent him such a vicious glare that the older man finally gave up and resumed polishing glasses quietly, sending him annoyed glances every now and then. Duo couldn't possibly care less.

His cellphone was also placed right in front of him. He hadn't let it out of his sight since Preventer put a trace on the small device. He had set the ringing on extra-loud and vibrate-mode, so he won't miss a call. He also carried his charger with him in his pocket, just in case. It has been two days since Heero was taken, seven hours since Duo arrived to New York, and not one phone call. Waiting was hard, but it was all he could do. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep and he couldn't stop thinking. He had tossed and turned in bed for two hours, unable to escape the memory of the aghast look on Heero's battered and bloody face when that little African toddler was shot in the video, or the way Heero's bare, trembling and blood-clotted arms clung to his little girl as for dear life... so he drank.

Duo finished his drink with a swift gulp, slammed the bulky glass on the bar and signaled the barman for another one. The man sighed irately, grabbed a bottle of Jameson Whiskey, and poured the young braided man another round. Duo watched the golden liquid flood the wide glass, while taking a few more puffs on his cigarette; a distant, reminiscent, look shone sadly in his cobalt eyes.

Of all people, it was Heero who had first introduced him to the renowned Irish whiskey. He had claimed that Jameson was the only kind of liquor he could stomach; that it didn't make him lose control and just... felt good. They were pretty damn drunk when Heero made that confession, so it wasn't so surprising that he had made an exception and volunteered such personal information. He said that he had first tried it when he arrived on Earth; that he had found a bottle in a car he had stolen out of necessity, and used the alcohol to disinfect some injuries after a particularly bloody mission. He then drank the rest to fight off the terrible cold while he waited holed up in that car, hidden in some God forsaken Hellhole until OZ cleared the area. Since then he had made a nasty habit out of stashing a small bottle in Wing's cockpit... just in case.

They ended up drinking it together the night after they blew up the naval base next to St. Gabriel's Boarding School. They turned the mission into a competition to see who could get there first and do the most damage. It was an egoistic challenge to see whose Gundam was superior; a childish game between two boys with too much fire power in their adolescent hands. He had gotten there first, but Heero had won the competition anyway, God damn him. He blew the fucking gas tanks at the center of the base and blew the whole damn place into kingdom's come all under five minutes. He then left the battlefield in an arrogant display of flight capabilities, leaving Duo behind, cussing and shouting at the unfairness of it all.

Such stupid kids they were... and they thought themselves professionals! Boys will be boys – Gundam pilots or no Gundam pilots.

They got back to their dorm room all pumped-up from the fight. The adrenaline, friendly rivalry, alcohol and way too much testosterone coursing through them caused one thing to lead to another and... It was the first time they slept together. Scratch that – they fucked like there was no tomorrow. It was hot, messy, violent and fervent... far too intense to be described in mere words. After that memorable first night, Duo made sure he kept a small bottle of Jameson in his cockpit too... in case he ever ran into Heero again.

"Trouble sleeping?" a soft female voice tore Duo from his reminiscing. He looked up, meeting Relena's sad blue eyes. The young woman was standing next to his bar chair, dressed casually in bright blue skinny jeans and a large, black sweatshirt. Her long blonde hair was undone, falling gracelessly and flatly around her head. She had no make-up on; her features pale, tired and sad. Duo realized that he had never seen her look so plain; for once out of her formal wear. She almost looked like anyone; almost... because she will never be just _anyone_. She will always be _Heero's girl_.

"Yeah," he rasped gruffly, scanned her up-and-down and finally turned to take another sip of whiskey, staring ahead at the abundant display of liquor bottles behind the bar instead of facing her. "You too?" he asked the obvious, though not really interested.

She nodded quietly and took a seat next to him. She motioned the bartender to approach and asked for a glass of Jameson on the rocks as well. Duo turned to gape at her, surprised. A hidden smile hovered over her pale lips; she gave him this look, as though telling him that he shouldn't be so shocked by her preference. She took a small sip from her beverage and placed it neatly on a coaster.

"You're not the only one he used to drink this with," she said, gazing ahead to avoid his prying eyes.

"Figures," Duo muttered, rolling his eyes. He raised his glass up for another sip. The two sat in silence, drinking and brooding quietly. Placing her empty glass down, Relena ran a French-manicured finger over the rim, staring down at the melting ice with a pair of pensive blue eyes. Duo finished his first smoke and reached to take another cigarette out of the box. He lit it up, took a long drag and released the smoke in a long huff, raising his head up and creating small rings. He watched with sad eyes as they dissipated slowly into the air... disappearing. He tried to recall if he had ever spent more than a second alone with _her_ , but nothing came up, other than that time at the hospital in Brussels, outside the ICU, when he told her that Heero was all hers to deal with from then on. But now here they were, sitting side by side and tolerating each other... for his sake.

"I was thinking about taking a ride," Relena finally said. She turned in her chair, facing him, and for a moment he froze, taken aback by the familiar ferocity burning in her blue eyes. God damn it, they were the same as Heero's: sharp, potent and intense... irresistibly persuasive. Fuck. For a split of a second, Duo almost thought he knew what Heero must have seen in her. She was a force to be reckoned with, no doubt about it; now more than ever. He sighed and looked the other way, returning his attention to his drink. He resumed smoking, deliberately ignoring her.

"Right now... there's only one place I can be," she continued nonetheless; "You're welcomed to join me."

Duo took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked up, frowning. The bitch was being nice to him... it was unsettling.

She offered him a sad little smile. "It sure beats sitting here waiting for that call," she reasoned and hopped off the bar chair. She moved away, heading out of the lobby without waiting for his answer. Duo shoved the burning butt between his pressed lips, got up, snatched his cellphone from the bar and his jacket off the chair, and hurried to join her.

*     *     *

Two of Relena's bodyguards were waiting outside when she and Duo stepped out of the hotel. A black executive's car was parked at the front, its engine running. One of the men-in-black opened the back door for them and they entered the vehicle. He closed the door behind them.

It was a short ride before the car arrived at an East Village neighborhood and finally pulled to a stop before a ten-stories-high tenement building, one of many like it in the old residential area. Relena was the first to step out of the car. Duo remained seated for a moment longer, staring out the window at the enormous building. It hardly looked like slums, but the crowded urban blocks still reminded him of home.

A black SUV was parked in front of the building. When Duo stepped out of the car, he saw Relena standing next to it, the palm of her hand spread over the engine hood and he knew – it was Heero's car. The young woman gazed at it wistfully for a moment, before moving her hand away slowly, almost caressing the vehicle. She turned towards the small stairwell leading into the building and one bodyguard prepared to follow her. She raised a hand up, signaling him to stop.

"Wait here," she said; "I'm in good hands," she gestured at Duo with her head. The secret service agent turned to study Duo with a stony face, but Duo ignored him. He followed Relena into the building.

They took the elevator to the tenth floor, riding it in silence. Once the doors opened he followed her down the hall, to the apartment at the end overlooking the street. Relena pulled out a key from her jeans' pocket.

"Come here often?" Duo asked bitterly as he watched her slide it into the lock.

"Every couple of months," she said and opened the door; "Making sure he's doing alright," she added quietly and entered the apartment. He followed her in. Relena flicked on a light and headed to the kitchen. Duo stood for a moment by the door, looking around.

It was a small and modest residence; dark hardwood flooring, naked white walls and scarce furniture – only the bare necessities. A pillow and blanket were left in a messy pile on the sofa; otherwise, the apartment was immaculately tidy. A trail of footmarks stained the polished dark wood floor, leading from the front door to the kitchen; traces of wet boots no one had bothered to wipe before entering... traces of Heero. Duo stared at the stains, a chill gripping his heart.

"Would you like something warm to drink?" Relena called from the kitchen and Duo finally looked up, snapped out of his sad daze. He turned to close the door and joined her in the kitchen. He spotted three orange prescription bottles standing on the countertop by the sink right in front of him when he entered the small kitchen, along with a half-empty glass of water. A black concealed carry-holster was laid next to it. As he walked in further he saw Heero's Preventer jacket hanging from the back of a kitchen chair; one of two chairs standing by a small kitchen table. He couldn't tear his eyes off it. A shiver ran up and down his spine and he grimaced, aggrieved. The place felt strangely haunted; filled with ghostly reminders of its missing occupant.

Relena placed an electric kettle under the tap and filled it with water. She set it back down on the worktop, switched it on and then opened a cupboard overhead to fetch two mugs. Duo noted that there were only about four mugs in total, next to three small bowls of cereal and a few other scarce dishes; the cupboard was rather empty... it reminded him of his own kitchen. He only kept a couple of dishes from each item, just enough to feed himself and Tomás. He hoped the little rascal was doing okay. He had left him a key to his place and made sure to stock up the fridge before he left L2.

Relena opened a second cupboard, one that contained some coffee, tea and sugar, and then reached for a bottom drawer to take out a teaspoon. Duo noted bitterly that she clearly knew her way around that kitchen, feeling at home as she proceeded in making two cups of coffee. God that hurt to watch. He realized with great dismay that Relena was very familiar with all those little plain things he had always wanted to uncover; small and simple sides of Heero she had gotten to know over their years together, while he was away, simmering with hurt and resentment over what might have been if not for her.

Duo finally stepped into the kitchen. He spotted an open Chinese takeout box by the microwave oven. He picked it up, took a quick sniff, winced at the unpleasant smell of rotten food and put it away. The leftovers at the bottom have been sitting there for quite some time. He turned to the sink and picked one of the prescription bottles standing next to it. He skimmed over one label: it was antianxiety medication, prescribed to Heero by a Dr. Sloan. Duo was familiar with the popular brand. It was one he had begged his shrink to prescribe him with after Joe died, but she refused because of relative contraindication [[i]] with the other medication he was already on. Some big help she was...

Duo sighed and placed the bottle back down.

"You take sugar?" Relena asked as she prepared a mug of black coffee. He was surprised that she had bothered noting how he drank his coffee. He wondered if Heero drank it the same way.

"Nah, thanks," he said; "Bitter is more my thing."

She nodded, hiding a smile, and handed him his beverage. She then turned to make her own cup of coffee, walking to the fridge to get some milk. Duo took a sip, winced at the hot stinging on his tongue, and placed the mug back on the countertop. He reached into his black leather jacket's pocket and pulled out his smokes. After taking out a cigarette from the pack, he noticed that his lighter wasn't in there. He searched all of his pockets, but came up empty. He must have forgotten it on the bar.

"Here," Relena said and opened a second drawer, the one under to the utensils drawer. It was overflowing with colorful Skittles packets. Duo almost snickered.

"What da Hell?" he exclaimed, stifling a laugh. Relena also smiled, amused but sad, and reached deeply into the drawer, searching for something at the far end.

"He was trying to quit smoking again," she said and pulled out a box of Winston Blue, along with a blue plastic lighter. She handed them to Duo, smiling wistfully.

"Never quite managed to pull it off," she added, her eyes sad despite the smile; "And the candy just kept piling up..."

Duo almost smiled, but his lips felt too heavy to pull it off convincingly. How could he smile when she was the one who knew all those little things instead of him?

He accepted the pack of smokes and lighter quietly. He looked at them for a moment, feeling wretched when he realized that Heero and he smoked the same brand. For some reason, it made him feel even worse than the liking the same brand of whiskey, maybe because it was a habit they had both picked up after the breakup. What were the odds?

He lighted his smoke and placed Heero's lighter in his pocket along with the cigarette box. He then turned to examine the gun holster laying discarded on the countertop. He picked it up, a cigarette in his other hand.

"Looks like he was armed..." he mumbled and raised the cigarette up for a drag; "Maybe he managed to do some damage before..."

"Don't get your hopes up," Relena sighed and walked back to the refrigerator to return the milk. After closing it, she reached up to the top of the fridge, her hand searching the surface blindly for a moment before she retrieved a small firearm. She turned back around and presented it to Duo, her eyes shining miserably.

"He never would have taken it without a holster and you know it," she murmured sadly and handed Duo the gun, sighing.

"Like Shaw said... he wasn't in his right mind."

Duo let go of the holster and accepted the weapon. It felt strange holding something personal of Heero's after so many years.

"How'd you know it was going to be up there?" he asked Relena, frowning. He handed her back the gun.

"I just did..." she heaved with a wretched sigh and turned back to the large appliance and placed the small sidearm back up. She opened the freezer next. Like the cupboard, it was also rather empty. She reached deep inside, searching, and smiled when her fingers finally encountered whatever she's been looking for.

"It's still here," she smiled slightly, relieved, and pulled out a large white chunk of frozen cake. She grabbed a fork from the drawer and served the cake to the kitchen table along with her coffee.

"Want some?" she offered Duo, looking up in question; "Nothing like some comfort food at a time like this." She dug her fork into the frozen pastry, took a forkful and brought it into her mouth, closing her eyes in delight.

"God... I love this cake," she mumbled with her mouth full. She opened her eyes and took another large chunk. "There's this deli down the street... makes the best New York style cheesecake," she told Duo. "Heero can't stand it, says it's too sour, but he always gets one when I'm here." She took another large bite and closed her eyes again, savoring the taste. "God, it's even better frozen..."

Duo remained standing by the kitchen counter, smoking and watching her with hard eyes burning with a low blue flame. He took another puff on his smoke, grabbed his black coffee and joined her at the table, taking a seat in the chair from which Heero's jacket was hanging. He sipped his coffee and smoked quietly while she ate. Minutes passed in brooding silence and avoidance. They didn't have to share their thoughts to tell what the other was thinking. They were both wondering what horrors Heero was being subjected to at that very moment, while they were sitting over coffee.

Duo couldn't bear thinking about it a second longer. He got up, shoving the chair back.

"He's gotta keep some booze lyin' around here somewhere, right?" he muttered and began opening random cupboards.

"Try under the sink," Relena suggested; "he likes to live under the illusion that he's going to chuck it out one day soon."

And indeed, once he opened the cabinet doors under the sink, he found a nearly empty bottle of Jameson, right next to some cleaning products and empty glass bottles waiting to be recycled one day. He snatched the whiskey, two glasses of water from the cupboard overhead and severed them to the table. He poured each of them a drink and they gulped it quickly, straight up.

"Do you fuck?" Duo asked bluntly as he slammed his glass on the table. His voice was raspy, roughened by the burn of liquor.

Relena placed her empty glass down calmly. She took another forkful of cheesecake.

"Sometimes," she answered plainly, raising the fork to her lips. "It doesn't mean anything." She took a bite and added a solemn "I wonder if it ever did..."

Duo reached into his pocket to take his pack of smokes out. He lighted a second cigarette. He was halfway through his second smoke when she spoke up again, digging into the cake.

"We were kids, you know?" she mumbled dolefully. "We thought we weren't, but we were. It was destined to go wrong."

Duo scoffed dismissively. "Yeah, well, eight years later and he still keeps cheesecake in the freezer in case you drop by."

Relena let out a small, bitter, chuckle and took another bite. "He might keep cheesecake in the freezer for me, but he keeps a flame alive for you."

Duo snorted. "Right," he grunted; "You can't really be _that_ stupid."

"He was fucking you way before he was fucking me, Duo," she informed him evenly, her fierce blue eyes staring him down.

"Sometimes I could swear he thought he was fucking you instead of me..." she mumbled and finally cast her gaze down. She helped herself to some more cake. "He would get... he could be very aggressive sometimes," she whispered quietly, eyes cast down; "I didn't like it."

"Guess he fucked both of us over, then."

Relena looked up, smiling sadly. They shared a knowing look; one that confirmed they both knew that despite of everything they wouldn't have passed on the chance to be with him. It was probably the only mutual understanding they would ever reach. It was time for a truce.

"He never got past you," Relena said, focused on her cake again.

"I find that hard to believe," Duo muttered and used his fingers to tear a small piece of the cake as well, tasting it. Heero was right; it was too sour.

"Why?" Relena asked and pinned his gaze fiercely; "Have you?"

She had him there. Duo cast his eyes down, avoiding her harsh glare so she wouldn't see the obvious answer.

"I know I haven't," she confessed, heaving a despaired sigh. "Even though I know it could never work out, I... I just can't. So we're friends... somehow... when he lets me."

"Yeah, well, he never needed me as friend," Duo huffed sullenly and shook the ashes from the cigarette into his coffee mug. "He never needed me for anything other than a hole to fuck."

"That's not true," she argued decisively.

"Oh yeah? And what do you know about it?"

"Not much," she admitted, shrugging, "But maybe if you would have stuck around long enough after that last battle, you would have been able to find out for yourself."

"I left because of you!" Duo burst, punching the table angrily. "I left because he chose _you!_ So he liked fucking me – big deal! He only did it because I could take it... because I wanted it just as rough as he did... but in the end he always picked you over me! Always! It was always you, Relena, always. He took his shit out on me so he won't haffta fuck you up the way he did to me. He didn't give a shit about me... never was that kinda thoughtful with me... You were his soft spot, and I... I was a fucking punching bag. I guess that woulda been okay if at the end of the day I woulda been the one he really wanted, but I wasn't. He always picked you! He gave me the ugly and he saved the rest just you! All of it!"

"ME?!" she laughed bitterly; "God... Is that a joke?! And you call _me_ stupid?! God, Duo... it was you! Always! I could never give him what he really wanted, what he really needed... Can't you see? He came to me because he wanted to escape who he was when he was with you. That thing you call ugly... he hated it. He feared it... he couldn't handle it. Heero needed me as a leash, not a lover. I could never be you... he could never let go the way he did with you... he was never that... ugly... with me. I was a failsafe, nothing more."

"Oh yeah?! So why didn't he try to stop me when I left?! Why didn't he say something when I gave him the chance?! For once in his fucking life – he shoulda said _something_!"

"God dammit, Duo!" she exploded heatedly; "Is that what it was all about?! You were waiting for him to _say_ something!? Jesus..." She shook her head and took a deep breath, struggling to calm down.

"Maybe he would have tried to say something – maybe," she said, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage, "but he couldn't even speak... not until a few days later. Temporary aphasia... [[1]] He hurt his head when ZERO crashed. It was bad... but you didn't stick around for the prognosis, did you? You just left with your anger, and your hurt... You walked away with all those things left unsaid... You left him to me, so I took care of him." Her eyes watered; she looked utterly wretched... hurt.

"I was there for him through every step of the way, but it was never enough. I was never enough. Don't you get it? It was always you, Duo. He stayed on Earth to be apart from you. He stayed with me so he won't have to think about you, about who he was when he was with you, but it was always you. He finally left when he realized that I could never be enough. I just don't get it. I don't. I was the one who stuck it out 'til the end... I was the one who held his hand when he... when he fell apart two years ago. Where were you? What did _you_ do? What have you _ever_ done except criticize him? You expected things he didn't know how to give! You should have been more patient with him! He... he... he needed your perseverance... not just your God awful temper! Love isn't sex, Duo. There are times when... when being able to take a beating isn't enough. There's more... so much more. I wish you could have both seen it... before it became too late. You could've grown together... you really could have... but you were both too stubborn to let that happen."

A tense, guilty silence fell over the small kitchen. For the longest time, neither said a word, nor did they turn to look at each other. Finally, it was Duo who broke the unconformable silence by clearing his throat. He reached for the nearly empty bottle of Jameson and poured them both another round, just a few drops each, emptying the bottle completely. He raised the glass to his lips, his eyes cast down to the table.

"Sounds like you gave this shit a lotta thought," he said quietly and sipped the rest of the whiskey.

She heaved a long sigh and picked up her glass as well. "Yeah, well, therapy helped..." she muttered and drank some whiskey, leaving just a sip-full more in the glass. "I did a lot of growing up these past few years."

Duo let out a small, bitter, chuckle. "Yeah, sounds like it," he remarked solemnly and placed his empty glass back down. He circled its rim with his finger. "I for one can't stand it... some dickhead tellin' me what I'm feelin' and why... pisses me off." He looked up, offering her an apologetic smile. "Anyhow, I appreciate the insight," he concluded. "It sounds about right. Wish you woulda told me this shit sooner..."

Relena smirked. "Never..." she let out smugly and finished her drink with a quick gulp. She placed the glass back down. "At least not back then," she added solemnly. "I couldn't stand you, Duo... I thought you were a real jerk. I didn't like it that you brought out the worse in Heero," she confessed; "I was young... naïve... I didn't realize how much he needed that outlet. I guess that in retrospect, I was kind of a jerk too."

Duo snorted, rolling his eyes, and the two then shared a knowing smile.

The silence resumed. Duo sat slumped forward and snatched the empty whiskey bottle. He rolled it back and forth on the table absentmindedly. The glass made a rumbling scrapping noise as it was rolled up and down the wooden surface. Relena returned to nibbling on the cake quietly, her eyes following the movement of the bottle as Duo continued playing with it: up and down... up and down... back and forth... until he stopped, placing a hand on top of it to stop its momentum.

"Your kid..." he mumbled, staring numbly at the immobile bottle; "What's the story there?" he dared asking, looking up cautiously to meet her eyes; "Did it... did she help bring you two any closer?"

Relena shook her head and swallowed the cake in her mouth. "Not the way you'd think..." she murmured and leaned back into her seat, raising her arms up to hug herself. She didn't look up from the table as she continued speaking.

"I found out I was pregnant a few weeks after Heero left for the US. I kept the whole thing secret... avoiding the media. I didn't tell him about his daughter until Elizabeth was a year and a half old," she said; "I didn't want him to feel obligated to come back just because of her, you know? I didn't want to be _that_ woman... That would have been unfair."

Duo nodded in agreement.

"It took a while to sink with him, I think," Relena continued; "He didn't know what to make of it. I sent him photos from time to time... but he never asked to see Lizzie in person." she paused, closing her eyes sadly for a moment, before opening them again, keeping her gaze fixed on the table. "To be frank," she resumed quietly, "I hardly saw her myself. I was too focused on my career." She exhaled a miserable sigh and reached a hand under the table and behind her back, aiming for her jeans' back pocket. She pulled out a small black leather wallet – a man's wallet – and held it carefully in both hands as she placed it over the table. Duo watched her mutely, his cobalt eyes focused on the ragged black wallet.

"Shaw gave it to me once the forensics team was done with it," Relena mumbled and opened the wallet. Duo's eyes were immediately drawn to the driver's license inside the ID window – Heero's license. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and watched Relena sneak a finger under the driver's license, pulling out a small passport-size photo.

"I found this when I..." her voice trailed off with a sigh. She bowed her head down sadly, shook it, took a deep breath and looked back at Duo. She held the small photo gently between two trembling fingers, and showed it to him.

 "That's her," she whispered shakily, a tragic smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Duo hesitated a moment before casting his eyes down to look at the small photograph. It was a photo-booth picture of a dark-blonde toddler with deep-blue eyes and rosy cheeks, smiling sweetly at the camera while sitting on the lap of a young brunette.

"Elizabeth was brought up by her nanny... Cassandra," Relena explained quietly and placed the photograph carefully back in its place. "I couldn't be bothered," she added mournfully and tucked Heero's wallet back into her back pocket. "I never wanted to be a mother at twenty, but letting her go was not an option... she was Heero's child. I just... I couldn't. He had already left and I... I just couldn't let her go as well. Call it an adopted child's complex... whatever, I don't know. It was selfish, but she was all I had after he left."

"And then she... You lost her?" Duo asked carefully.

Relena's eyes watered and she hurried to wipe her tears away. She nodded her head.

"Heero had never seen her in person before Christmas 202," she explained, "but then the Peace-Celebrations Committee decided to hold the ceremony in DC that year, so I had an excuse to come over. I brought Lizzie with me. I never gave him the heads-up and just showed up with his daughter... never leaving him the option to bolt," she smiled forlornly; "I pulled some strings and asked in advance that he'd be assigned to my security detail. Manipulative, I know, but I think he was used to it by then. We used to fight about it all the time..." She shook her head, sighing before she digressed any further.

"Anyway, Cassandra, Lizzie's nanny, she took her on a tour of the capital while I worked. Heero was appointed as their escort. I figured that way he could at least spend one day with his daughter under the safe pretense of a guardian. They were all in the wrong place at the wrong time when..." her voice trailed off, fading into sad silence.

"The DC Incident?" Duo whispered the question, encouraging her to go on. Relena nodded a 'yes', her eyes tearing up again.

"Thirteen were taken hostage at the Museum of Natural History..." she mumbled, her voice quaking with suppressed tears; "Cassandra... she was the third to be executed, four hours into the whole mess. By then I was already in the Situation Room at the White House. I saw every single one of the videos those bastards sent us before each execution. I... I thanked God each time there was someone else on that screen instead of Lizzie or Heero... even when Cassie's video started playing I... I was relieved it wasn't them. Terrible, I know..."

"No... not terrible," Duo disagreed softly; "Just human."

She nodded, thankful for his understanding. She inhaled a deep breath, trying to find the strength to continue her tale.

"Heero did whatever he could to ensure Lizzie's survival. I... I feel sick just thinking about it. They... they _mutilated_ him... did just for the fun of it. His injuries were extensive, but there was not one scratch on her. He protected her against such grim odds... He let them do such awful things to him... He told them anything they wanted to know, kept them talking, made himself valuable enough not to kill... so they won't kill Lizzie. That's why they were the last. By the time Zechs got there... Heero was barely alive. They... they... the abuse was... beyond inhuman. He endured it, just for her sake. Preventer had to update all of their security protocols... They made so many changes because of what he told them... He didn't care. He did everything he could... and then she died on my watch."

She paused for a few dramatic moments, trying to compose herself, before telling the rest of the story:

"I wasn't used to doing it all by myself... never really got the hang of it, and suddenly I was with her alone. All I wanted was to get him some clothes to the hospital, so he'd be more comfortable. It was a long hospitalization and he wasn't going to be home anytime soon, so..." Her voice was shaking; she paused again, trying to calm down. "I went to his place to get some things," she continued; "I turned my back on Elizabeth for one minute, one damn minute, but that was enough. She wandered off to another part of his apartment. For a while it was quiet and then... then I heard the gunshot. She found one of his guns... she played with it and..." Relena's tears overflowed as the guilt overwhelmed her. They streamed silently down her pale cheeks as she finished the story. "She shot herself in the chest... the paramedics couldn't save her."

By that point Duo's eyes were also gleaming with tears. He sniffled and looked the other way, wiping them swiftly even though she could probably see. Relena wiped away her own tears before speaking again.

"Heero couldn't have made it to the funeral... he couldn't possibly have left the hospital yet, so I... I told him after it was over... when he was... when he was a bit better. He was already torn up about the DC Incident and he... he took it hard. Really hard. He... he broke... a total breakdown. It took him months to recover and he... he was never... never really the same afterwards. Something... broke. I broke it... and now it can't be fixed."

Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, Relena cried, her words drowned by pitiful sobs.

"I'm the one at fault, but he still blames himself. It... he... he... That's why he keeps his gun up there, on the fridge. It's the strangest habit, but he... he regrets leaving it in plain sight that day... so much... and it helps him feel better, somehow... knowing it's out of reach. That's why he forgot it, Duo... He went out there without his gun that night because it was on the _stupid fridge_!" she cried, hurting; "God... that son of a bitch has him and it's all my fault."

Duo was about to open his mouth and say something, but she stopped him before he could get a word in.

"It is, I _know_ it is," she insisted. "It's not fair that he has to torment himself about something I did wrong. How could he have possibly known that a child would be there to find it? It wasn't his fault. I should have been paying more attention to her... I shouldn't have taken her along with me in the first place... but I couldn't let her out of my sight after what happened. She wandered off for less than a minute, I swear, but... but it was enough." She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from sobbing.

"Sometimes I think he that he _does_ blames me..." she added quietly, bowing her head down in shame; "...but not for her death. He blames me for not taking it as hard as he had. He couldn't move on, but I have..." She looked up at Duo, her eyes shining with a few remaining tears. "It's strange, isn't it? He was only a part of her life for a day and he... he cherishes that day more than I cherished the time I had with her... all the time I could have had if I wasn't so focused on my career."

Duo was speechless, tears blocking his throat. All he could do was look at her while his heart bled with sorrow for Heero and, for the first time ever, for her as well.

"We agreed to visit her grave together each year," she said; "Every Christmas... close to her birthday. She died two weeks after her birthday. She had just turned three..." she sighed sadly; "Heero tried to make it last year, but it was too hard, too soon... he couldn't. This year he's decided to avoid it all together. I was trying to convince him to try again, but he... he said he was working on an important case... that he couldn't. And now... now it turns out that he was willing to play bait in this sick game instead of facing her grave again. God... I wish he hadn't used this case as an excuse... He could have been in DC with me, right now, instead of in the hands of that madman. All those years passed since the war ended and he still... he still thinks his life is something he could just throw away and no one would care. He's convinced that he suffers alone... he has no idea how much I suffer with him."

She looked up, meeting Duo's tearful eyes through anguished eyes of her own.

"He is going to die, Duo," she determined somberly; "He will let that man kill him without ever making that call. After all those years he's still waiting for something to kill him. He... he's determined to die alone and unloved... punished for every possible sin, even mine. He wants that redemption, Duo. He wants what that psycho is going to offer him... and there's nothing I can do about it."

"But you're hoping I can?" Duo realized quietly.

Relena leaned forward, gazing deeply into his eyes. "I broke his heart, Duo..." she whispered shamefully; "I need you to fix the mess I made. I need you to get over your own heartbreak and help him. I need you to be the things I couldn't be... the things _you_ couldn't be back then. He needs you... now more than ever. It's up to you now..." she cast her gaze back down, leaning into her seat tiredly. "I'm sorry, I... I can't save him."

*     *     *

Somewhere far from there, time and space existed in a whole different manner. It was a private hell; a dark, horrid place with its own rules and reason, like another dimension. Life there had its own pace, its own logic and order; a routine that erased everything else until it seemed natural to live that way, like he had never lived any other way. The present became a terrible constant, stretching into both past and future... vanquishing all hope. Time no longer had meaning in such a place. Past and present mingled; dream and reality blending together into a solid existence soaked with agony, blood and tears. Images, sounds and sensations – some real, some not – hazed in and out of the fog, washing over him like continual waves eroding the surface of his sanity.

He was hallucinating; dreaming of that dreadful night Zechs had rescued him and his daughter from the Museum of Natural History. There were piles of bodies on the floor. Zechs stepped over them as he approached the chair on which he was sitting, holding his little girl wrapped securely in his arms. He sat unnervingly still, gaping ahead in shock; his mind still unable to process the swift and merciless massacre he had just witnessed when suddenly every WFLM member in the room dropped dead to the floor right in front of him, a bloody hole in the center of their forehead.

The tall blond Preventer agent knelt before him and placed a strong, heavy hand on his uninjured right knee. He blinked and turned his only functioning eye to gaze numbly at the man. Zechs asked if he could stand, if he could walk, and he shook his head 'no', tears streaming uninhibited down his bloody cheeks. His knee was busted. Everything hurt. He had no more fight left in him... nothing. They had beaten everything out of him... brutally. He just wanted to go home... Please... take us home...

Zechs nodded gravely and stood up. He reached to take Elizabeth away from his arms, and he panicked, holding her tighter, refusing to let go. Zechs told him it was okay; he won't harm her. His arms shook, strained, unable to keep holding onto her so tightly. He let go, a sob escaping his split and bloody lips. It was hard letting her go... He should have never let her go...

Zechs placed Elizabeth gently on the floor next to the chair. She stood there, looking around, dazed... afraid. She didn't know the tall blond man was her uncle, just like she didn't know he was her father. Hopefully, she didn't understand anything of what happened that terrible night...

The tall agent hoisted him off the chair and placed him across his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He then picked the small girl up with one hand and held against this hip, wrapped in one arm like a sack of potatoes. He walked out of the kill zone carrying them both.

Heero remembered the humiliation and relief he felt being carried to safety by that man; once an enemy, now a savior. Zechs laid him carefully on the cold wet ground somewhere outside, where it was quiet... safe. No more dead bodies. The blond man knelt next to him and tried to assess his injuries. He remembered staring up dully at Zechs' focused expression and thinking that he could finally see the resemblance between Relena and her older brother. It was almost comforting, like she was there.

The older man asked where it hurt, but he couldn't answer. He was hurting everywhere; bones crushed, bloody wounds burning with infection, organs failing... a terrible fever coursing through him... He must have been in shock; adrenaline was probably the only thing that had kept him alive by that point.

Zechs tried to offer some relief. He told him that he did well; that Elizabeth was alright and that he did well. He broke into tears, sobbing as helplessly as a child. He couldn't remember much more, only that Zechs kept telling him that he had done the right thing and that everything would be alright... they were safe now. He just laid there on the moist grass and wept, beaten to absolute disgrace by shame, horror and unspeakable pain.

Everything hurt... so badly. His body was on fire, his every cell shrieking in agony. The pain did not originate from his drug-induced hallucination. In reality, his naked body was still restrained to a dentist-like chair in a dark and secluded room. Had he been conscious, he would have realized that the pain he felt was not due to the injuries he had sustained two years ago, but because his body was currently convulsing on the reclining chair, jerking wildly against the bonds holding him down while an ECT machine repeatedly fed high voltage into the electrodes plastered over his nude body. He was being electrocuted; 150 volts administered to his body every half of a second... again and again. His muscles were racked by spasms, his half-lidded eyes were rolled back into his head and his brain starved for oxygen as he writhed helplessly, a pained expression on his oblivious face.

In reality, there was no one there to save him, so Heero dreamed.

*     *     *

 

 

[1] Aphasia is a condition characterized by either partial or total loss of the ability to communicate verbally or using written words following serious brain trauma. Roughly 50% of the time it is temporary and patients recover completely within a few days.

 

 

 

[i] In medicine, a contraindication is a specific situation in which a drug, procedure, or surgery should not be used because it may be harmful to the patient. Relative contraindication means that caution should be used when two drugs or procedures are used together. Absolute contraindication means that event or substance could cause a life-threatening situation. A procedure or medication that falls under this category should be avoided.


	7. ECT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

A cloudy morning announced its untimely arrival with the beeping of a garbage truck moving down the street ten stories below. Dim gray light washed over Heero's small apartment as the sun rose behind the thick clouds. Duo lay sleeping on the couch, nuzzled deeply into the pillow and blanket Heero had left there. He was awakened by the truck's consistent beeping and loud banging as it loaded one trash can after the other.

It was raining; a heavy shower tapping mercilessly against the open window's ledge. The central heating had turned the small residence into a furnace, so the window was open, letting in cool air and the sounds of the city that never slept. Manhattan was damn noisy, but then again, so was L2. If he kept his eyes closed, Duo almost felt at home; almost, because it never rained on L2. That would be a waste of precious water.

The truck rolled away, heading further down the block. He opened his eyes and rolled over to lie on his back, listening to the rain. He had nearly forgotten what it sounded like: annoying. His head hurt and his temples throbbed; he was hung-over and sleep deprived. Groaning wretchedly, he threw the cover aside and got up, heading towards the bathroom. He stopped in front of the closed bathroom door and glanced in the direction of the only other room down the hall: Heero's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, enough to allow a narrow view of the double bed inside, where Relena lay sleeping, curled in Heero's bed, wrapped in sheets that probably smelled like him. He watched her with a pang of jealousy. It was only natural to let her have the bed; it probably wasn't the first time she had spent a night on it. Duo sighed, shook his head, and entered the bathroom.

He stood over the toilet, relieving himself, and scanned the small washroom out of boredom, maybe curiosity. He reached for a men's shower gel bottle resting on the bathtub-ledge and flipped the lid open with one finger. He took a sniff, closing his eyes as the heady male scent filled his nostrils. It was pleasant... heck – it was fucking _sexy_ , maybe because now he knew how Heero smelled like. The thought made the fragrance even more intoxicating.

Placing the soap back down, he spotted a small make-up case lying by the sink on the vanity next to him. He stared at it lengthily, wondering exactly _how many_ nights did the young senator spend in this apartment. Suddenly he felt that he could never replace such a relentless presence. Relena has been a part of Heero's life for almost ten years now. She was everywhere... everything. How could she expect him to compete with that? How could she possibly believe that he was the only one who could save Heero? He's been away for too long... he didn't know who Heero was anymore. From what he had been told last night, Heero wasn't the same person he remembered from wartime. She was far more equipped to handle him, much more experienced. Why was she suddenly passing the torch over to him? He didn't know if he could handle such responsibility. What if he let Heero down again?

When he stepped out of the bathroom, the bedroom door was wide open. The bed was empty and neatly made. He walked back to the main living area and spotted Relena in the kitchen, making breakfast and coffee. His first meal of the day was usually a smoke. He went to fetch his cigarettes from the coffee table and walked over to the open window. He leaned over the wide ledge, and smoked while gazing outside.

The black executive's car was still parked in front of the building. From ten stories high it was hard to tell if it was occupied, but it was safe to assume that the two secret service agents were still there.

"Man, those guys must really love their job," he muttered, taking a long drag on his cigarette and releasing the smoke outside.

Relena stepped out of the kitchen carrying a steaming mug of black coffee and a small plate with scrambled eggs and toast.

"They're used to it," she said and placed Duo's breakfast on the coffee table. "We should head back to Preventer soon," she told him and headed back to the kitchen; "office-hours start at eight."

She was halfway there when suddenly a phone started ringing. She froze, halting, and Duo did the same. They both checked their cells, pulling them out of their pockets.

"It's mine," Relena determined quickly and showed him her phone and the caller ID flashing on the screen. "It's Heero," she whispered uneasily.

Duo pushed away from the window and hurried towards her. She took the call, put it on speaker mode, inhaled deeply and answered: "Hello?"

"I know they're trying to trace this call," a low male voice declared harshly. Duo recognized it as the same voice that has been calling him lately.

"Answer me this quickly: is he there?"

Relena looked up, meeting Duo's eyes. "Who?" she asked, playing dumb.

"You know who," the deep voice replied calmly; "Yes or no – is he there?"

Duo nodded at her.

"Yes," she said.

The call disconnected.

"Wait—" Relena called, but it was already too late. She gasped, looking fearfully up at Duo.

His cellphone rang next. He was already holding it in his hand. The caller ID read _'Heero'_. They looked at each other tensely and Duo answered the call, putting it on speaker.

"Quit playin' games, motherfucker!" he growled; "Just tell us what you want already!"

"By the end of this week Heero will be dead, but not before he calls out _one_ name," the man said calmly, unfazed by Duo's threat; "Which will it be: yours or hers? Name it right and his death will be quick and painless. Get it wrong and he dies a slow and agonizing death."

The call was disconnected again.

Relena's phone rang again. He was bouncing between the two of them, trying to avoid a trace.

"A name, now, or all bets are off."

He hung up again and called Duo.

"Who will he call to redeem him? Will it be you – a man he hasn't seen in eight years, or _her_ – the woman who bore his child? Choose quickly or Heero will suffer for your silence."

Duo and Relena looked at each other anxiously.

"I will count to three and then you will have the pleasure of hearing him scre—"

"Mine," Duo blurted out; his hard eyes on Relena. She nodded, approving his choice.

"It's going to be mine," he repeated more confidently.

"I appreciate your confidence," the Redeemer scoffed smugly; "You'll get your answer in four days," he declared, and hung up.

Their phones remained silent this time. Standing in the center of Heero's living room, the two stared at each other anxiously.

"We better get to Shaw," Duo said.

*     *     *

It was morning. Bright orange-white light flooded the living room of a small apartment, radiating off the bare cream-colored walls and the beige carpeting on the floor. The light was too brilliant; eerie. Everything glowed with an unnatural orangey halo; bright, distorted... surreal. And it was quiet. Too quiet, considering the open balcony window was overlooking a busy main road bustling with traffic just a few stories below. A soft wind was blowing, tousling transparent white drapes hanging over the sliding doors. The fabric flapped under the cool breeze, revealing an urban landscape and in the horizon – Capitol Hill.

Heero stood a few feet away from the balcony, looking out at the view.

He was back in his old DC apartment. He was dreaming.

He stood barefoot and dressed in a thin blue hospital gown. An IV needle was inserted into his arm, above his inner wrist. It stung. Everything hurt, so the stinging barely registered.

A noise came from the direction of his bedroom. He turned around slowly. His bare feet padded noiselessly over the carpet as he placed one foot in front of the other, walking dazedly towards the sound. He stopped at the bedroom doorway and looked inside.

Relena was standing there, her back to the door so all he could see was her long blonde ponytail cascading down the back of her smart black business suit. She was rummaging through his dresser, pulling out clean underwear and clothes. She was too busy to notice him. He watched her quietly, as silent as a ghost.

Voices drifted from somewhere far away. People were arguing, a man and a woman, but their words were muffled, distant. He turned away from the bedroom to face the hallway again. There were two other rooms further down the hall. He walked towards the first. A couple was arguing inside. He could hear them more clearly as he approached.

"You have _no right_ coming here asking to see him!" a woman cried angrily; "You don't even know his name!"

"I'm his father!" the man shouted back.

"Just go!"

"Not before I see him!"

"You're not welcomed here! You never wanted to be a part of our lives so I moved on! Now go! No— Don't touch me! Don't you EVER touch me again, Odin!"

The woman ran out of the room. She bumped into him in the hall. She stopped, gasping; her long brown hair flung back and forth by the abruptness of the halt. She looked up at him, her dark blue eyes furious. It was his mother. He was looking at his mother. It was strange, because he had never seen her from eye level before. In his memories, she always towered above him, yet now he was facing her as an adult of the approximate same age... finally seeing her eye-to-eye.

"You are _just_ like him!" she accused spitefully and shoved him aside, running off. He turned to look over his shoulder, his expression stony as he watched her run towards the end of the long orange hallway, where she was swallowed by flames.

He turned back towards the room she had just departed in a hurry. He stepped closer, stopping at the doorway, and looked inside.

Odin was there; as tall, broad, rigid and menacing as he remembered. The man glared at him sourly with a pair of ruthless Prussian blue eyes.

"We're _nothing_ alike," he grunted; "I never would have let you die."

A gun was fired; the shot echoing within the small apartment.

Heero winced, recoiling back a step. It felt like he had just been shot in the heart. It was bleeding. But he wasn't shot. His daughter had just shot herself in the other room.

He turned to look over his shoulder again, back at the corridor. Relena was running towards the den, but it was already too late.

Elizabeth will be dead in a few moments.

He turned back to Odin.

The man now lay bleeding on the floor. He'd been shot too. He was going to die too. Heero stared at him numbly.

 **TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PARENTS** , a deep male voice commanded. It was coming from all around him, vibrating through him; invading... consuming... violating... everything.

"M-my... parents?" he asked dazedly. It was hard to speak. Everything hurt; his mouth especially. Its left side was swollen and throbbing. His words were slurred like he just returned from a visit at the dentist.

 **YES** , the Voice confirmed. **TELL ME ABOUT THEM.**

The dream faded away; the eerie orange light replaced by the harsh bright-white glare of the projector above him. His inner arm hurt, stinging. Squinting, he could vaguely make out the sight of an IV line running into him, dripping pinkish-clear fluid into his vein.

 **TELL ME ABOUT THEM** , the Voice repeated the demand.

He closed his eyes, feeling woozy. He licked his parched and chapped lips, trying to ease the irksome dryness, but for naught. His mouth was completely dry, and sore; he was so thirsty...

 **TELL ME** , the Voice insisted and suddenly his world flared up in pain; white-hot agony bursting into ferocious flames, incinerating him from the inside. The words started pouring out of him; hoarse, pained, quiet and gasping:

"My... my mother..." he sobbed the words out, trying to please the Voice so it would stop hurting him; "she... she worked. Something... dangerous... something... important... always more important..." He shuddered, muscles convulsing, teethe chattering. His mouth hurt so much, but he had to keep talking...

"I was just... there..." he mumbled, tears in his eyes. He couldn't stop them. He was crying. The torture eased a bit; the burning pain receding slowly. His body slumped tiredly into the reclined chair. He could breathe again... and the words just kept tumbling from his lips:

"She had a... a husband..." he continued faintly; "He wasn't my father. They... they died. Their work... it was... important. It killed them..."

 **HOW OLD WERE YOU?** The Voice asked.

"I don't know..." he cried, shaking his head weakly; "young... I don't know... Can't... can't remember... much... There's... there's nothing important to... to remember..."

**AND YOUR FATHER?**

The very word pierced his heart, puncturing it until it bled some more.

"He... he took me in..." he whispered and more tears gushed from his sorrowful blue eyes. He closed them, ashamed. "Odin... he... he didn't even know my name..."

**DO YOU KNOW YOUR NAME?**

"Yeah... sure..." he slurred the words out without thinking; "It's Seiki..." [[i]] he said his name far too casually considering he was speaking it out loud for the first time; "Seiki Clark..."

**WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HIM YOUR NAME?**

"Odin he... he didn't... didn't know... I knew... I knew who he... I heard them... fighting... I knew... who he was... he didn't know who I am... not really... and...  after a while... it just... Seiki just... stopped... that name... it didn't mean anything anymore... it wasn't me... Seiki is the name my mother gave me... it doesn't mean anything... I was never his son..."

**DID YOU WANT ODIN TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT HE WAS YOUR FATHER?**

"Sometimes... But he... he died too... All three of them... I saw... saw them... they died... I watched... they died... and I... I... I was alone... it... it didn't matter... I was... I was... always... alone..."

**DID YOU LOVE THEM?**

He whimpered softly, shaking his head.

"I tried... not to..." he whispered mournfully; "They... they didn't... It was like... I wasn't even... there. Not me... not... not... not like that... not like I wanted to be... I had to be what... what they wanted, but... but never... never... never important enough... never... never... no one played with me... it wasn't... I wasn't... love isn't... it's not... it's not as important..."

 **THAT IS A VERY HARSH TRUTH FOR A SMALL CHILD TO ACCEPT** , the Voice determined; **IT OBVIOUSLY HAD A PROFOUND EFFECT ON YOU AS AN ADULT. YOU GREW UP THINKING YOU WERE... NOTHING.**

"...disposable..." he murmured sadly; "It's... what weapons are... now..."

**WERE YOU SAD WHEN THEY DIED?**

Heero shook his head helplessly, tears soaking his pale face. "No..." he wept; "not... not really... I... nothing was ever really that sad... never... everything just... happens. Shit happens... all the time. It's not... not important... nothing is... you can kill me... I don't care... I won't beg for it... and I... I won't run from it... it... it doesn't matter... so just... please... just... stop this..." he pleaded, crying pitiably; "please... don't... don't make me... do this..."

 **IS THAT WHY YOU DIDN'T TRY TO KILL YOURSELF WHEN ELIZABETH DIED?** The Voice ignored his plea and continued probing. **BECAUSE IT DIDN'T MATTER WHETHER YOU LIVED OR DIED?**

He whimpered, powerless to stop the words from coming.

"I... I didn't care... one way or... the other..." he rasped miserably; "nothing... it didn't matter... live... die... it's all the same... whatever comes... I... I don't care... it's... it's not important..."

**WAS YOUR DAUGHTER IMPORTANT? DID _SHE_ MATTER?**

"She should have..." he whispered bashfully; "she should... but... but she... Relena, she... she was always... always working and I... I... I was... like him... far away... I never really... I didn't know... and when I... when she told me... when I knew... I was just like him... I didn't... didn't care... not enough... I... I was... I was just like him..."

**YOUR FATHER?**

He nodded; his tears flowing freely. "I didn't mean to be like that... I tried... I... I made her important... told myself... everyday... I... I knew she was... she had to be... she couldn't be like me... she was mine... she... I tried... I... I did... I knew... I felt... nothing was ever that important... only she... I was her father..."

**DID YOU RESENT RELENA FOR CHOOSING HER CAREER OVER RAISING YOUR CHILD? LIKE YOUR MOTHER DID?**

"I... maybe... I... I don't know... I don't... I never... maybe..."

The Voice became more urgent, more demanding. **DID YOU LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER?**

"No... I don't think so..." he confessed brokenly, crying; "But I... I... I was... far away... it was better that way... the distance..."

 **SO YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TO LOVE HER?** It accused.

"No!" he shook his head in denial, sobbing out the words. "I... I knew she was important... I... I felt... I was... I knew I... I made her important... but it was too late... now I... I can't forget... I was responsible for her... I... I couldn't... it was... it was all I could be... it wasn't enough... but it was all I could be... I tried... I... I... I tried..."

**LOVE AND DUTY ARE TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS, HEERO. ARE YOU EVEN _CAPABLE_ OF LOVE?**

"I don't know!" he wailed; "I try... I try, but... I don't know... I don't know if I'm doing it right... No one's ever... I don't know... how. I'm just like them!" he cried brokenly, caving to his tears so he could no longer speak. "I'm so sorry!" he sobbed loudly; "I'm just like them! I'm sorry! I'm just like them..."

 **I THINK WE'VE MADE QUITE A BREAKTHROUGH TODAY** , the Voice spoke to him softly this time **; GET SOME REST. WE'LL CONTINUE ONCE I RETURN.**

Silence fell. The Voice was gone. Heero was left in the dark, alone with his thoughts and his tears. He wanted to go home...

*     *     *

Agent Shaw was leaning over the shoulder of a surveillance specialist sitting at his station in the Criminal Intelligence Division. The two were looking at the computer monitor while the young man tried to work his magic. Duo and Relena stood behind them, waiting anxiously. They were both wearing the same clothes from last night, though Relena had put some make-up on, using the make-up case she had found in Heero's bathroom. She was surprised to find it there, but she couldn't possibly dwell on it at the moment. Maybe one day, if it would still be relevant.

"What's taking so fucking long?" Duo grunted; "The asshole was using Heero's phone! It should be a piece of cake... You were ready for this, right? Surely you must have done something to his phone in case this shit happened..."

"It doesn't matter what we did to Yuy's phone or whose phone the Unsub was using," the specialist said, never turning away from the monitor as his fingers swept skillfully over the keyboard. "The Unsub was screwing around with the triangulation metrics. I'm having trouble finding a physical connection through any of the towers around Yuy's block. The cellular phone company's log can identify what towers your phones were associated with at the time, but that's about it."

"You mean you don't know where the calls we received came from?" Relena tried to clarify.

"A mobile number isn't attached to a given switch," the young specialist explained; "So while the far end knows what the number calling is, determining _where_ it's coming from involves some delicate work. Usually the logs help and then we can narrow the search down based on signal strength comparisons, which of the tower's directional antennas are holding the signal, and sometimes, if we're lucky, through the GPS chips in phones."

"But you're not getting any of that?" Relena asked; "Because he kept switching between our phones?"

"No, we can trace a call regardless of how long the caller stays on the line," the tech explained; "Once the call connects, it's already transmitted through the towers and logged."

"So he was just playing with us?" Relena realized dreadfully.

"Either that, or we're dealing with an amateur," Shaw said.

"He's no amateur," Duo grumbled; "He knew his way around your damn database... enough to send me some sensitive intel."

The specialist shook his head. "I disagree," he said; "I had a close look at your laptop, detective, and the Unsub was definitely using a Preventer secured link to send you that data. He left enough to trace the data stream back here. The hacking job was sloppy... much like yours."

"All I'm hearing is that it don't take no _genius_ to compromise your databases," Duo uttered scornfully and the young surveillance specialist offered a brief, ironic, little smile.

"It's not as easy as it looks," he then argued; "Not on that level, anyway. The Unsub was using a SCI level security clearance to access that data, probably Yuy's..." he mumbled uncomfortably, eyes darting back towards his computer monitor. "Heero's ID code was the last to access the data you received," he explained.

"We're obviously dealing with an insider," Agent Shaw determined. "And it's pretty clear that he's not NYPD," she sighed; "He'd have to know his way around here pretty well to hack Heero's computer."

"It's only doable if you can navigate our intranet," the specialist agreed. "The hack was an inside job: sloppy enough to let us know it came from our local network, but good enough to leave us clueless as to whom or where. The Unsub is just good enough not to get caught... and that's all he needs to be."

"He doesn't care if we know he's one of us," Shaw concluded grimly; "He's enjoying this."

They all exchanged worried looks.

"But could anyone mess with a mobile phone signal like he does?" Relena finally asked; "Any agent?"

The specialist shook his head.

"You'll need the right know-how," he said; "but just about anyone can get that online nowadays. And as for equipment... that would involve some resources, but it's doable. The Unsub was either using a directional antenna and some weak false associations, or an intermediary transmission layer linked to his phone... any radio could do that. In any case, he messed with the signal pretty good. I can only narrow it down to somewhere in the 20 square mile cone around Agent Yuy's apartment."

"You're talkin' about the entire Manhattan Island!" Duo exclaimed solemnly. "That doesn't help one bit!"

Merida released a somber sigh. "Just like with the other victims," she mumbled. "We couldn't pinpoint where they were calling from either."

The specialist nodded. "Same MO," he agreed.

"He's not slipping like you hoped he would," Relena accused harshly.

"No... he's not," Shaw mumbled, upset. "Something must be off with the profile. BAU was sure he would get so excited over his prize that he'll make a mistake."

"Well, so far he's done everything right," the specialist pointed out. "I'm sorry I couldn't help... but we'll keep trying. Next time he'll call, we'll try narrowing the region down further."

"We just have to keep him talking..." Merida agreed, nodding curtly; "keep him calling."

"Easier said than done," Duo muttered, scoffing; "It's gonna take _a lot_ to get Heero talkin'... not to mention beg for death like all those other people. We might be looking at a long wait... if he ever calls at all."

"He'll die before he'll say anything..." Relena murmured, looking fearfully at Duo. "He isn't going to call."

"He will," Agent Shaw assured her; "Heero knows this case better than anyone. He knows that we'll be waiting for his call. He'll call. He will."

Duo and Relena didn't look convinced, but neither said a word.

*     *     *

Agent Shaw escorted the two to the elevators down the hall. She pressed the call button and they waited for the elevator to take them back to the CID's briefing room on the eleventh floor, where they will wait for a phone call that might never come. There wasn't much more they could do at this point.

Duo tapped his foot on the floor impatiently while they waited; an irate expression on his harsh face. Relena just stared at her shoes, deeply troubled. Shaw studied them both worriedly.

The elevator doors opened. A man was already inside when they entered; a middle-aged man with a deeply receding hairline, dressed in a plain gray suit and holding a matching leather briefcase. He adjusted his golden-framed eyeglasses and nodded in greeting. He stepped aside, making them some room. Agent Shaw pressed the button for the 11th floor – the button for the 52nd floor was already pressed – and turned to face the older man.

"Doctor Sloan, good morning," she greeted, smiling warmly. "Coming in late?"

The older man smiled back politely. "One of those mornings..." he said, sighing; "Traffic was Hell."

"Tell me about it," she agreed, still smiling.

Dr. Sloan turned to the other two occupants standing in the elevator. He reached a hand towards Relena, offering a handshake.

"Senator Darlian," he greeted respectfully; "I would say it's a pleasure meeting you in person, but under these circumstances..."

She shook his hand, nodding gratefully. "Thank you, doctor," she said; "I gather that you've heard."

The man nodded gravely. "Yes, of course. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"We haven't lost anyone yet," Duo interjected crossly. The man turned to him and smiled in apology.

"Yes, of course," he said and offered Duo his hand. "Detective Maxwell, I presume?"

"Yeah," Duo huffed and shook the man's hand halfheartedly.

After a short, tense silence, the elevator reached the eleventh floor and the doors opened. Merida, Relena and Duo stepped out into the hallway.

Sloan flung a hand forward, stopping the doors from closing. He looked at Relena, then at Duo, and back again. "I don't usually do this," he said; "But if you two ever feel that you need to talk, my office in on the top floor."

"Thank you, doctor," Relena said, nodding in acknowledgement. "Your kindness is appreciated."

Duo said nothing in reply and just turned away from the elevator.

"Same goes for you," Sloan added, gesturing with his head at Agent Shaw. "I'm here if you need anything."

"Thank you, doctor," Merida said; "I'll keep that in mind," she promised and the three headed towards the briefing room at the end of the long hallway.

Dr. Sloan watched them from the elevator until the doors closed.

*     *     *

It was quiet. So quiet... he could hear his own shallow breathing and nothing more. He was swimming in thick fog... drifting... lost. So quiet... peaceful. The Voice was gone... finally.

His nude body was cold; numb like stone. It was hard to move, even slightly, but he managed to turn his head aside, slowly... woozily. It was dark, but not as dark as before. A dim weak light was coming from somewhere in the room; a gray radiance dissolving some of the constant blankness that has become his world. He spotted the frame of a distant window; white cracks shining brightly around a boarded glass window. Daylight filtered in through the thin cracks. He stared at the window lengthily, dazed. Whispers in his mind reminded him of how the BAU agents briefing them on the case said that their Unsub most likely had a steady day job. His captor was at work... that was why it was so quiet.

He turned his head straight up again, staring numbly at the inoperative lamp directly above him, a dull expression on his gaunt and stubble-covered face. His left cheek was badly swollen; a faraway look gleamed weakly in his half-lidded eyes. They shone with a feverish glaze, gawking mindlessly ahead. An IV line was still connected to his arm, dripping pinkish-clear fluid into his vein. His mind wandered... drifting anywhere and everywhere at once.

His fingers twitched. He tried to lift his hands up, but couldn't. They were held down by what felt like leather straps. Yes... he remembered this part. He's been captured... He was lying in the intensive-care-unit on the 50th floor of the Alliance Military no.3 Medical Building in the South J.A.P area. Yes... that was it... he remembered now... he's been shot.

Duo shot him. Twice. Relena was there too. They were coming for him... both of them. They were.

He looked around, his eyes searching the room desperately. There was nothing there... no one...

He tilted his head back so he could look behind him. There. He found it. A small monitor was sitting on a cart directly behind his head. He strained his neck, stretching his head back as much as he could.

The screen was dark. The monitor wasn't working.

He blinked, and suddenly it came to life; white-noise flickering on the screen. An image appeared next and he smiled, relieved. It was Duo; he was looking at Duo's face. The Deathscythe pilot looked exactly as he remembered from back then: a cocky fifteen-year-old smirking at him through the monitor, head bowed down slightly so that his eyes were concealed by a black baseball cap. He had a finger raised to his mouth, signaling him to keep quiet.

Heero stared, bemused.

"D-Duo..?" he croaked faintly, his voice hoarse, worn-down by thirst and helpless screaming.

"Are you... there?" he whispered shakily; hopeful, but afraid. "Are you... are you... real?"

Duo's lips moved. He was saying something, but there was no sound. He couldn't hear him. He tried to read his lips, but he couldn't focus... his vision was too blurry.

"I can't hear you..." he whispered miserably; "Duo... please... I... I don't... I don't understand... What are trying to say..? You're not saying anything..."

Duo was still speaking. He couldn't hear him either.

Heero closed his eyes sadly and turned his head back down, shaking it feebly.

"You're not real..." he rasped hopelessly; "this isn't real..."

Tears flooded his eyes, lingering to his closed eyelashes.

"None of this is real..."

He opened his eyes again and tilted his head backwards to look at the monitor. The screen was blank. He gaped at it numbly, disappointed. It wasn't real... none of it. No one was coming for him. Not Relena, and certainly not Duo.

"Duo..?" he whispered weakly, looking desperately at the blank screen. "Are you there..?" he pleaded, but only a black monitor stared back at him. Heero heaved a long and miserable sigh. He shifted his head back down, crying silently. Tears continued to slide freely down his stubbly and swollen cheeks.

Duo won't be coming for him. He had left... he had left him in that ICU after the fight in Brussels. He just left... Duo left before he was well enough to say the words that have been haunting him ever since...

Heero closed his eyes, whimpering quietly. Those words were finally coming out, but there was no one there to hear them: "Please don't leave me..."

*     *     *

Rising 52floors above ground level and 1,046 feet into the New York skyline, Preventer's NYC's Field Office was the fourth tallest building in Manhattan, right along with the New York Times Building and almost as tall as the Chrysler Building. It offered a tremendous view of the city. Standing outside in one of the balconies on the top floor, Duo leaned over the concrete banister, smoking and gazing ahead at the Brooklyn Bridge not far away. A strong, chilly wind was blowing, tousling his long bangs and the stray locks sticking out of his long braid. He had raised the collar of his black leather jacket up to protect his neck from the powerful breeze. He gazed down at the city, his grim cobalt eyes scanning one building after the other, uselessly searching for a sign, something that would hint where Heero could possibly be.

Frustrated, he stubbed out his finished smoke on the concrete banister. He turned around, leaning against the bulky stone barrier, and pulled the cigarette box out of his jacket pocket. He placed a cigarette between his pressed lips and pulled out a blue lighter as well; Heero's lighter. He studied it for a moment, just holding it in his hand... thinking of its owner. He sighed and lit up his smoke. He shoved the lighter back into his pocket.

A man stepped out to the balcony, joining him. It was Dr. Sloan.

"May I join you?" he asked, approaching before Duo gave his answer.

"Go ahead," Duo grunted and turned back around to face the view, smoking. "I hear it's a free country..."

Dr. Sloan smiled politely. He leaned on the banister as well, standing next to Duo. "So they say..." he sighed; studying the view as well; "Thanks to your efforts, among other things," he added kindly.

Duo scoffed. "So you know," he muttered.

Sloan nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Heero told you?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Well he shoulda told you that we were out to free the Colonies... a free Earth was just a perk."

"A most welcomed bonus, then," the man commented, smiling.

Duo rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever."

"You're not very fond of Earth, I gather."

"I ain't very fond of anything," Duo grunted and took another drag on his smoke.

Sloan nodded pensively and turned around, leaning against the banister. He placed two hands in his pants' pocket and gazed down at the floor. They stood in silence for a while. Duo could tell that the man was waiting for him to say something. He heaved an irked sigh and pushed off the banister, turning to leave and head back inside.

"Look doc, I appreciate the gesture 'n all," he told the doctor and dropped the cigarette down, stomping it with his foot; "but I ain't done no talkin' with this shrink I'm supposed to be seein' back on L2, so... nice try, but no thanks."

The middle-aged man nodded and looked up, studying him for a moment.

"You remind me of him," he observed, smiling sadly.

Duo frowned. "Who? Heero?"

Dr. Sloan nodded an affirmative and Duo scoffed dismissively.

"How'd you figure that?" he taunted.

"You're both tough nuts to crack," the man replied smoothly, smiling in good humor.

Duo chuckled bitterly. "That would be your professional assessment? That we're both nuts?"

"Just an observation," the man shrugged and turned around to study the view, leaving Duo be. The young man remained standing where he was, looking at the older man. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of smokes again, drawing out a third cigarette. He lit it up and went back to the banister, sighing. He leaned forward, studying the view again.

"You been treatin' him long?" he asked the doctor after a while.

"About a year now," Sloan answered, also studying the view; "since he transferred to New York. The transition has been... challenging."

Duo snorted. "I bet," he grunted; "The guy has a lotta shit to deal with."

Dr. Sloan nodded in agreement. "Our sessions are..." he sighed; "It's a work in progress." He turned to look at Duo, his face stern. "Heero doesn't talk much," he added, adjusting his eyeglasses over his nose.

"No shit." Duo muttered and took another puff on his smoke. He leaned over the banister a bit, standing on his tip toes, so he could look down at the street below.

"Makes you wonder though, right?" he said, still facing down.

"Wonder what?"

"What makes a guy like him tick," Duo clarified and rose back up, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. "Useta drive me up the wall... thinkin' 'bout what goes on in that dense head of his."

Sloan nodded. "He's an enigma alright."

"You gotta read between the lines with that guy... which is kinda hard considering he don't say much," Duo concluded with a bitter chuckle.

"I can see how that would drive someone crazy," Sloan agreed.

"Yeah, well, at least you get paid to deal with it... I had to go to war with that guy... and no one threw in any hazard-pay, yanno?"

The man smiled at his joke. "I imagine that it was quite difficult, having to depend on a guy like that."

"Oh no, the depending part was easy," Duo disagreed, shaking his head. "He's so fucking reliable... It was all the other parts that were too damn hard." He sighed, bowing his head down miserably. "I just... I dunno. I was out looking for trouble, I guess. Like I didn't have 'nough of ma shit goin' on, yanno? But man, was he worth it... He was irresistible."

Sloan offered a sympathetic smile. "The mysterious ones always are."

Duo nodded. "I just had to figure him out... crazy, huh?" he mumbled, gazing down at the city. "Funny thing is, in the end it turns out that I was _way off_. Looks like the one who really understands him is someone I always ruled out as totally _clueless_."

"Relena?" Sloan asked and Duo nodded, laughing sullenly.

"That's gotta be ironic, right?" he snorted; "I mean, I figured that Heero and me... we were so much more alike, but... but maybe he didn't need that. He already had his own ugliness to face in the mirror... why add mine on top of that? God... I shoulda figured it out back then. Woulda saved myself a lotta heartache."

"Would it have changed your feelings towards him?"

Duo looked up, alarmed. He laughed nervously. "Oh man, it's that obvious, huh?"

Sloan smiled back.

"Nah... probably not," Duo exhaled tiredly and turned back to the banister. "I woulda still been a jealous bastard... wanting it all, yanno? The good and the bad... his beauty and his ugliness." He looked ahead numbly for a moment, a wretched look in his cobalt eyes.

"Sad things is... I still do," he mumbled and buried his face in his hands, still holding the burning smoke between two fingers. "God... I wish..." he shook his head against his hands; "Fuck it," he rephrased; "I... I just... I pray to God he's gonna make it, doc. There's... there's so much I gotta tell him when it's over... so much I left unsaid..."

Dr. Sloan nodded in understanding. He placed a comforting hand on Duo's shoulder, tapping on it lightly. He went back into the building, leaving Duo to his thoughts.

The braided young man remained standing on the balcony, leaning over the banister with his face still buried in his hands. He moved one hand away, the one without the cigarette, and reached into his jacket, fingers seeking the crucifix hanging from his neck. He held the small pendant in his fist tightly, his eyes closed and his face still hidden behind one hand as he offered the Lord a first prayer in years, hoping that if there was a God out there, that he would be willing to listen to his plea.

*     *     *

It was dark again. And cold... so cold. He was frozen... inside and out. At least that way, nothing hurt anymore. Numbness was a blessing. He could stay like this forever...

There was a dripping noise... droplets falling quietly into a puddle somewhere below. His blood. He was bleeding from open gunshot wounds... his blood dripping to the floor.

Drip...

Drip...

Drip...

He was still strapped down to that bed, at the Alliance military hospital.

Where was Duo? Why wasn't he coming?

Because Duo left. He left him in Brussels.

Wait... that couldn't be right... it hasn't happened yet.

But it has... a long time ago.

Duo left. He had left angry... betrayed. He wasn't going to come back.

He shouldn't have angered Duo... shouldn't have done many things... should have done many other things... but it was too late.

He was alone now. Alone.

It was so cold... and Duo... he... he always made him feel... so... _hot_...

**TELL ME ABOUT DUO.**

The Voice was back. Heero jerked, startled.

"D-Duo..?" he echoed weakly; barely able to speak. His jawline hurt so much; a raw, acid heat pulsated through it when he moved his mouth. It was infected; the inflammation has spread to his inner cheek, causing it to swell dangerously. It was hard to talk... it hurt.

 **YES** , the Voice confirmed; **TELL ME ABOUT HIM**.

"He won't help me..." he mumbled hazily, shaking his head.

 **WHY NOT?** The Voice demanded to know.

"I... I messed up..." he whispered; "really... really... bad..."

**MESSED WHAT UP?**

"Us... What... what... what we... we could've... what we could've... had..."

**WHICH IS?**

"I... I don't know... couldn't... couldn't... couldn't stick around... long 'nough to... to find out..."

**WHY NOT? WHAT WERE YOU RUNNING FROM?**

"...fire..."

**FIRE?**

"Hmm... yeah..." he murmured dreamily, nodding his head; "Duo is... he's... he's like... fire. Hot... burning... dangerous..."

**YOU MEAN YOU WERE SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO HIM?**

"Hmm... yeah..." he smiled sluggishly; "but... but that burn... it... it was... wasn't just that..."

**WHAT WAS IT LIKE THEN?**

He had to think about that one for a moment. "It... in my chest... it burned... so hot... it... hurt. Thinking about him... just... just thinking... burnt... too hot... I... I... I couldn't breathe sometimes... it just... it was... like... like rocks... heavy... and... and... too much... I... I couldn't... I couldn't function... like... like I... like they wanted me to... It was... always him... distracting... pulling me under... and..." he sighed; "...that burning... in my chest... it... it scared me..."

**WHAT ABOUT RELENA?**

"Relena..?" he blinked, dazed.

**DID YOU FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT HER?**

He shook his head feebly. "No... not like... Relena was... she's... mellow... not... not like... like those flames... She... she... it was like... like... like soaking in a warm bath... It... She... I... It soothed me... I liked it... that... that... that calm... peaceful... like it was... it was... like I could finally... sleep..."

**WERE YOU ATTRACTED TO HER AS WELL?**

"...sometimes... yeah... but I... with her I... it was... soft... like warm water... It... it was a different kinda warm... not so hot... not so... so... dangerous..."

**YOU FELT SAFE WITH HER.**

"Yeah... yeah... safe... she... she made everything... better..."

**AND DUO?**

He sighed, despaired. "Duo... complicated things... everything was so... confusing... too... too much... Duo is... he's... too... much... too intense... everything has to be... be... fast and... and furious... and... and sometimes I just... I..."

 **YOU JUST NEEDED TO FALL APART** , the Voice deduced; **YOU NEEDED SOMETHING SOFT TO LAND ON.**

"Yeah... maybe..."

**UNLIKE WITH RELENA, YOU FELT THAT YOU NEEDED TO BE STRONG FOR DUO?**

"I... I didn't want him to... to burn out... That fire... sometimes it was... too hot... too dangerous... he could... could burn... and I... I just... I wanted him to... to be... safe..."

**LIKE YOU FELT WITH RELENA?**

"...yeah... like that..." he slurred quietly, tired; "I... I tried but... but I... I was never... never that... that warm... never that... soft... I was too hard... I didn't mean it, but... but it was... it was..."

**THE ONLY WAY YOU COULD PROTECT HIM? BY BEING STRONG... CALLOUS?**

"Yeah... that," he agreed weakly; "I... I was always too desperate... came on too... strong... We... we could never... never really... we never really got past the... the... the sex... always... too strong... too angry... It was that fire... it... it consumed... everything... blinding us... it was too hot... we couldn't get close..."

**HAVE YOU TRIED TALKING TO HIM ABOUT THESE THINGS?**

"No... no... I... I don't... I never... I didn't know how..."

 **YOU'RE DOING IT NOW** , the Voice pointed out.

"Yeah... but I don't want to... you're making me... you... you did... you did something... to me..."

The white light above him switched on. Heero gasped under its harsh assault and clenched his eyes shut, groaning. He could feel movement next to him. Medical instruments were clanking again. He opened his eyes carefully, squinting, and turned his head aside in the direction of the movement. He peered through half-lidded eyes that have yet to adjust to the terrible brightness. A familiar face hovered above him; the face of an older man with a deeply receding hairline and stern, calculative eyes staring him down from behind a pair of golden-framed eye-glasses. He knew this man... he's been avoiding him for so long... Could he be the Voice?

"I've been poisoning you for almost three months now, Heero," the man informed him smugly as he reached for the instruments tray and picked up a new syringe and a small glass vial filled with pinkish liquid.

"Undermining your every defense," the man continued as he filled the syringe; "breaking you one piece at a time." He tested the needle, squirting some fluid out, and turned to the IV bag hanging above, full of clear fluids.

"Add to that a few intense ECT treatments [[1]] and some of my Magic Potion... and you can't help it," he explained arrogantly as he injected the pinkish mixture into the bag, where it slowly blended with the rest of the fluids. The IV line soon filled with the pinkish-clear mixture, dripping into Heero's arm.

 The man turned back to face him, only his jaw line visible under the brilliant white lamp. He was smiling slyly.

"You're _finally_ going to talk to me, Heero," he promised, leaning down towards the restrained young man lying helplessly on the chair. "Whether you want to or not."

Heero gaped numbly at the face of the man hovering above him. The Voice now had a face, and it was the face of one Dr. G. Sloan.

"But trust me," Sloan continued, still smiling haughtily; "I'm doing you a favor. I'm going to help you choose... All those things you've left unsaid are finally going to come out, Heero," he promised; "It's the only way this is ever going to end," he said, and Heero closed his eyes sadly, turning the other way.

"It's the only way you'll ever be redeemed..."

*     *     *

 

 

[1]ECT: Electroconvulsive therapy (popularly known as shock-therapy) is a standard psychiatric treatment in which seizures are electrically induced in patients to provide relief from psychiatric illnesses, such as a major depressive disorder. ECT is administered under anesthetic with a muscle relaxant and a breathing tube.

 

[i] Seiki:(n) (mind and) spirit/life energy/vitality/essence


	8. ICU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Like the morning before, Relena and Duo arrived at Preventer's field office bright and early after another sleepless night spent tossing and turning in their hotel room beds. They were shown to the CID's meeting room and after a technician checked that everything was in order with their tapped cell phones, they were left alone in the room, resigned to another day of stressful waiting.

The wait was taking its toll. Duo had paced the briefing room impatiently for about half an hour before he got fed up and went to search for a place to smoke. Relena stayed in the small meeting room. No other significant calls came since yesterday morning; only her personal assistant calling about a million times. She told him she was taking some personal time and that he shouldn't bother her. Since then, her smartphone was dead quiet. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Federal Plaza below and passed the time watching people going about their daily lives, last-minute Christmas shopping, holiday plans and all. She held a coffee mug in both hands, but has yet to take one sip. She gazed out the window dazedly, lost in thought.

She remembered the long, excruciating wait while Heero was in surgery after Zechs had rescued him and Elizabeth from the hands of the WFLM. She had stood by a window at the Specialty Hospital of Washington's family waiting room, looking out at a slumbering Capitol Hill neighborhood while her daughter slept on one of the sofas, covered by a blanket and hugging her pink little bunny doll.

SHW was less than a ten minute drive away from the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of Natural History; it served the area's critical care patients. Zechs had grown impatient waiting for the emergency forces to arrive at the scene and brought Heero and Lizzie there himself. It was a good judgment call, because if he had waited a minute longer, Heero would not have made it; once the adrenaline in his system wore off, he crashed... right there, at the ER entrance.

People in the streets below were sleeping in their homes, clueless of the horrors that had transpired that night. A cover-up was already underway. Those people slept securely in their beds, children counting the hours before Christmas Day with not a worry in the world. The Smithsonian museums closed their doors for visitors on December 25th, which was fortunate for the crews responsible for the cover-up; there was no need to close the museum and arouse suspicion. The dead hostages' bodies have already been transferred to the cover-up site. The story was going to be that they perished in a fire that broke out in a house-party on Christmas Eve, right here in Capitol Hill. Families will be paid handsomely to keep quiet.

Looking ahead at the near horizon, Relena could see the smoke rising behind distant rooftops. A controlled fire has been set by the cover-up crews, currently consuming a safe-house chosen for that purpose, burning evidence of government inadequacy to ashes. She sighed and turned away from the dark window, turning her back at the fire burning in the distance. She cast her gaze down to the sofa, watching her child's face, peaceful in sleep, as though she hadn't just been rescued from a living Hell. Her daughter had borne witness to a massacre at the tender age of three. It was beyond appalling, but she couldn't deal with it right now. It would have to wait. She will get her daughter all the help she will possibly need... but not right now.

The waiting room door opened and a middle-aged doctor stepped in. She looked up to meet his tired eyes and he nodded in greeting, approaching her.

"How is he?" she whispered fearfully.

"Out of surgery," the doctor said, sighing; "But he's not out of the woods yet," he added sullenly. "The first surgery was damage control... quick crisis management, just enough to keep him alive. His organs are still bleeding, still damaged. He needs more surgery. We'll keep him open... see if he survives the next few hours before we proceed."

"Open?" she whispered dreadfully.

"Yes," the doctor repeated; "We've covered the exposed organs with plastic wrap," he explained; "We've given him medications to help his blood clot and to help counteract the acid buildup. We're slowly raising his body temperature with warming blankets, warmed IV fluids, and blood products."

"And how... how long does he have to... to stay... open... like that?"

"We want him to regain as much strength as possible before we operate again. Still, we have to repair the damage as soon as possible. It's a balancing act... Heero might die if we don't get him back to surgery soon, but he might also die if we take him back to OR too soon... We have to proceed carefully."

"So we wait?"

The doctor nodded; his eyes grave. "We wait."

"Senator Darlian?" a soft female voice called from behind and Relena blinked, torn from her grim reminiscing. She hadn't realized she had melted back into the past.

She turned away from the daylight-flooded window to face the speaker. It was Agent Shaw. The young redheaded agent was looking at her with a worried look on her pale freckled face. She was holding a Dunkin' Doughnuts box in her hand.

"I figured you could use some comfort food," she said, smiling faintly.

"Thank you," Relena said softly; "But I can't really eat anything... I'm afraid I'll throw it up."

Shaw nodded in understanding. She placed the doughnut box on the meeting room table. The two took a seat. Relena placed her now cold coffee mug on the table and stared at it dully.

"I hate this part," she mumbled.

"Waiting?" Shaw asked quietly and the young senator nodded.

"I've spent so much time waiting for him... and each time it felt worse than the one before..." She heaved a tired sigh, playing with the mug's handle, turning it left and right absentmindedly.

"I waited while he was out there, fighting for freedom... I waited while he threw himself without reserve into the arms of another... I waited while Preventer sent him out on all of those _'fire extinguishing'_ missions... I waited while he kept putting himself in danger again and again... I waited while he was bargaining for our daughter's life with his own... I waited for him to come around from heartache after heartache... Sometimes it feels like I'm doomed to just... keep waiting... forever... It often feels like he'll never come around..."

"Sounds like you believe he's worth the wait," Shaw offered some insight and Relena smiled sadly, her gaze still cast down at her mug.

"Yes... I do." She looked up at the other woman. "Have you ever had someone like that, Agent Shaw?" she asked quietly; "Someone worth the wait?"

"Please, call me Merida," the young redheaded woman said; "And I don't believe I have. I'm not that lucky, I guess."

Relena nodded in understanding and bowed her head down again, staring at her coffee mug.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone like Heero, though," Merida added thoughtfully. "He... I mean... I can definitely see the allure," she mumbled and looked aside uncomfortably. "But still, I don't think I could ever get involved with someone so... complicated. A guy like that... that's just asking for trouble."

Relena released a quiet chuckle. "That's putting it _mildly_ ," she joked forlornly. Her smile faded slowly. She cast her eyes back down.

"You said you went out with him?" she asked guardedly.

Shaw nodded. "It was part of an act... but yeah."

"Doesn't sound like something he'd agree to do," Relena pointed out, pinning Merida's green eyes with her harsh blue gaze.

The young agent shifted uneasily in her seat. "Maybe he felt that he had no other choice," she offered softly; "It was no picnic, I'll tell you that... but I've dated worse," she concluded with a light joke.

Relena smiled back sullenly. "That was your makeup case," she deduced quietly, casting her eyes down to the table again; "In his apartment."

Merida nodded. "Yes... We've spent quite a few nights in each other's place. We didn't do anything. It was just pretend."

Relena nodded, smiling in mild amusement at the sound of her obviously defensive tone.

"Have you thought about it, though?" she demanded quietly. She laughed when she saw the mortified look on Merida's face.

"Don't worry," she hurried to reassure the young agent; "I'm not some kind of jealous girlfriend or anything like that... I've been sharing him with another since the day we met. I'm just curious, that's all."

"Looking for confirmation that you're not completely nuts for falling for him?" Merida suggested with a sympathetic smile.

Relena smiled back, just slightly. "Probably," she mumbled, casting her gaze down; "All the time," she added sullenly.

"Well, you're not," the redheaded woman assured her; "I'm just not one to fall for the dark brooding type," she shared good-heartedly; "Bad boys aren't my type," she explained. "I think that's why Sloan thought it'd be safe to pair us up for this assignment... no chance we'd actually fall for each other or anything like that."

"He profiled you before they put you on the case?"

"The both of us, yes," Shaw nodded; "But it's not like there were a lot of options;" she clarified; "There aren't many eligible female agents in the CID, not as young as Heero, anyway. I'm two years older, actually, but I suppose they figured that it would have to do. The important thing was that I wasn't really his type, I guess."

"And what would that be... his type?"

"Well, you should be the one to know... right?" Shaw laughed nervously; "Someone strong, dominant... an equal. Not a hopeless romantic like me, that's for sure. I'm too old fashioned... and he looks like the type of guy who needs someone who won't think twice before putting him in his place," she laughed goodheartedly and Relena smiled back, though sadly.

"I think that he's far more likely to fall for someone like you," Merida concluded, watching the young senator carefully; "and he had, right? Once?"

Relena bowed her head down. "I suppose," she mumbled sadly. "I don't really know." She looked up again, her blue eyes gleaming sadly. "But I'd like to think so... yes."

"In any case, I'm not blind or anything," Shaw hurried to add; "like I said, I can _definitely_ see the allure... I can't say I blame you for falling as hard as you have... that must have been difficult."

Relena nodded in gratitude, grateful for her understanding. "I suppose that falling for someone like Heero wasn't a very wise choice to make..." she murmured wistfully; "But it's not like I asked for it. I was fifteen... Can you imagine meeting a guy like that at fifteen? He took my breath away... Guess I never got over it."

The two shared a knowing smile, which vanished from their lips soon enough. They bowed their heads and stared numbly at the table.

"How long did it take the others to call?" Relena asked after some time.

"It differed with each victim," Shaw said grimly; "Some called after a day... others took a bit longer. Their bodies were usually found three to five days after they had gone missing."

"How... how were they... tortured?"

Shaw shifted her glance away uneasily. "Electrocution," she murmured quietly; "and he sliced them up with a knife... nothing lethal... just painful."

"Why do you think he does that?" Relena frowned; "If he's trying to reenact the DC Incident, all of his victims should have died under fourteen hours... plus, none of them was tortured... just... just Heero. He... he took a beating for all of them... but he was never electrocuted."

"I don't know," the young agent admitted. "If you ask me, there are a lot of holes in the BAU's profile," she sighed in frustration. "They've already changed the profile twice. This Unsub has them completely puzzled. I don't think any of them really know why he's doing this. They're trying to establish a new working profile, based on what's been happening since Heero was taken. I hope it would help bring us closer to a suspect."

"And meanwhile?"

"We wait."

*     *     *

Heero's life hung on a delicate balance: wait too long for surgery, and his body might fail him, whereas not waiting long enough might mean that he won't survive another surgery. It was a fine line; damned if you do, damned if you don't. His doctors said that he may not be quite stable enough, but if they wait much longer he'll go into multiple organ failure and they will lose him for certain. So after a few tense consultations, they decided to take Heero back to the OR and finish what they've started.

That was five hours ago.

Relena paced the waiting room back and forth, hands behind her back, face troubled. Elizabeth sat on the sofa, awake; she was watching some children's show on TV and munching on a snack from the vending machine. It was Christmas morning and most children were seated happily around the family room, accepting colorful gifts with toothy smiles and open arms. It was a morning for hugs and kisses; a day for family. Relena had planned on taking some much overdue time-off and to spend the day with her daughter, maybe even convince Heero to join them... but not like this. She never imagined she would be spending it like this...

The waiting room door opened. Relena stopped pacing and looked up, hoping to see a doctor. Instead, her eyes fell on a strapping young man, tall, blond and blue-eyed, who had just stepped into the room and closed the door behind him: Zechs. He was dressed casually: plain blue jeans and long sleeved shirt; his long blond hair undone and cascading over the back of his elegant black leather jacket. She studied his stoic face for a moment, feeling awkward. There was a lot of baggage between them, more than they could ever work out in this lifetime, and enough so that they would never even consider spending Christmas together as a family, yet there he was, supporting her in a time of need... for once filling the role a sibling.

She watched as he turned to his young niece seated on the sofa and caressed her messy dishwater-blonde hair fondly. The little girl looked up, gazing at him dazedly. Her large Prussian blue eyes shone with a quiet calm, so... attentive. Zechs looked deeply into those eyes, studying them quietly, and Relena knew exactly what he was thinking: he was thinking of Heero's eyes... they were so much alike. As he kept staring at her mutely, Elizabeth shied away from her uncle, pulling back, and resumed watching her cartoon quietly. Zechs finally moved away.

He turned to Relena. "How is he?" he asked and she sighed.

"No news yet," she mumbled; "he's still in surgery."

Zechs nodded curtly. "I've seen him survive worse," he reminded her; "He'll make it."

She nodded dismissively, unable to believe his reassurances; not when she knew that the only reason Zechs could say those words with such certainty was because he had been there, as an enemy, often the one who was responsible for all those past injuries. A sick, forbidding feeling twisted and churned in her stomach, torturing her with the inevitable fatalist question: how much more punishment could Heero possibly take?

"How did it go?" she asked Zechs, changing the subject so she won't have to dwell on it again. She turned to look at her brother guiltily.

"As expected," he said plainly, his voice cool, resigned. "They discharged me for misconduct."

"I'm sorry," she apologized automatically, always the diplomat.

Zechs looked straight into her eyes. His gaze was fierce, yet warm.

"Don't be," he said.

They looked at each other, sharing a rare moment of understanding. For the first time since she had learned that he was in fact her brother, Relena felt that she was in the comforting presence of an older sibling. The sensation was alien, almost wrong, but she found it very reassuring... more than anything he could say at the moment.

The waiting room door opened again and a doctor stepped in; it was the same middle-aged surgeon from last night. The two siblings turned to face him with anxious blue eyes.

"The surgery was successful," the older man informed them quietly and Relena exhaled with relief.

"We've managed to stop the bleeding and repair the damaged organs," the doctor continued; "He's being transferred to recovery right now. You'll be able to see him shortly."

"So he's... he's going to be alright?" she asked fearfully.

"It's still early to tell," the surgeon said; "Right now, our biggest concern is organ failure. The trauma to his internal organs was great... there's still a chance some of them might crash. We will keep a close eye on him for the next few hours and hope for the best."

"So... more waiting?" she sighed tiredly, disappointed.

"I'm afraid so," the doctor confirmed; "But you can stay with him, if you like."

"Thank you, doctor. I'd like that."

She turned to Zechs, silently asking him to stay with her daughter while she went to see Heero. He nodded, accepting her request quietly. He took a seat on the sofa, next to the small child, his posture as rigid and callous as a bodyguard. He was just as uncomfortable around children as she was, it would seem, but it was better than nothing. She trusted him to keep her daughter safe. Sending her child one last glance, Relena followed the doctor out of the room.

"You should prepare yourself," the man warned her before they entered Heero's ICU room. "It was quite an extensive surgery... it has taken a toll. Some people might find that alarming," he explained; "There's a tube in his throat, helping him breathe, and his torso was cut open, as well as part of his esophagus, so there's a big scar. Just... be prepared."

She wanted to tell him that she had seen Heero in far worse conditions, during the war and afterwards, but suddenly such a claim didn't feel very accurate. She had seen him shot and bleeding; ill and fatigued; battered, bruised and suffering of severe malnutrition after weeks in enemy hands. She had been by his side when he had recovered from one perilous mission after the other since he had started working as an operative for Preventer's CTD. She had been there, waiting in ICUs all around the world... since the day he had ended the conflict between Earth and the Colonies by crashing Wing-ZERO over the Presidential Palace in Brussels, and to this very day. His injuries were always extensive, but no matter how grave his condition, when she stepped into his hospital room she was always greeted by the fierce blue fire burning in his eyes. He could be bruised, broken and bandaged all over, but his eyes always remained lucid, lively... resilient. She would take one look at him and she would know – he was going to make it. Now, however, when she opened the door... she was faced with a completely different image... a nightmare.

Sound of life support machines filled the small ICU room: a heart monitor registered a weak yet steady pulse and a respiratory machine pumped oxygen into the tube running into Heero's open mouth. He lay naked from the waist up; an ugly screaming-red scar running across his torso, seaming him at the center from his throat down. The fresh scar was held together by thick black staples. His skin was sickly and pale, his face stubbly and gaunt. He looked as though he was already dead, lying cold, lifeless and blue on the autopsy table after being cut open postmortem. The sight was grisly... heart wrenching. She couldn't bear seeing him like this.

Relena inhaled a deep breath and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Her blue eyes were already gleaming with tears by the time she reached the bed. She stood by his bedside, watching his oblivious face. She reached for his limp hand resting motionlessly over the bed, and held it tightly. It was cold and clammy, inert. She squeezed it, hard, and her vision blurred with tears. She bent down carefully and placed a soft, delicate kiss on his cold forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered, crying, and pulled away slowly. She took a seat by his bed and settled in for a long, nerve-wracking, wait.

*     *     *

"Hungry?" Duo's voice tore into her grave reminiscing and Relena looked up from the briefing room table, meeting his eyes. He was standing at the other side of the long table, holding a Chinese takeout box. She could smell the stench of cigarettes from across the room.

"I found this takeout menu in Heero's desk," he said and gestured towards her with the box. "Want some?" he offered, holding up a second pair of chopsticks.

Relena shook her head.

"You sure?" he asked; "He had this buy-nine-get-one-free punch-card 'n it was all used up, so I figure that if Heero likes it that much, it's gotta be good..."

She smiled politely, somewhat amused. "No, thanks," she said; "You go ahead. I'm not hungry."

He nodded and took a seat at the opposite side of the table. He opened the box and started eating, wolfing down a dish of noodles. When he caught her staring at him, he slowed down and smiled sheepishly.

"I'm a nervous eater," he said with his mouth full, shrugging; "Heero useta say I was fuckin' disgusting... that I eat like a pig."

She offered him a small, gracious, smile.

"Guess I can't help being a slob when it comes to food..." Duo mumbled thoughtfully, digging the chopsticks into the box. "It sorta comes with the territory when you live on L2..."

"You were a street urchin?" she asked carefully.

"Hmm yeah, sure, why not... That's one way of puttin' it."

She nodded in understanding. Heaving a silent sigh, she turned her head aside, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window stretching behind her.

"He couldn't stand the way I ate either," she murmured reflectively, a small, wistful smile tugging at the edges of her lips. "He never understood why I bothered following all those rules... European high society..." she let out a small chuckle; "he hated formal dinners... said he didn't see the necessity in so many forks."

Duo let out a small chuckle. "Guess he was sort of caught in the middle, huh?" he mumbled; "Always jugglin' between a good-for-nuthin' _street urchin_ and an _upper-class_ princess..."

"A balancing act..." Relena murmured pensively, still staring out the window.

Duo stopped eating and looked up at her. "Balancing act?" he echoed, frowning.

She sighed and turned away from the window, facing Duo again. She shook her head in dismissal. "Never mind."

Duo nodded and resumed eating quietly. Relena stared dully at the table.

"Do you really think that son-of-a-bitch is gonna make him choose?" he asked after some time.

"I don't know," she whispered sorrowfully. "I don't know what kind of game he's playing... I don't think anyone here really knows."

"They say that knowing love is the key to redemption," Duo muttered bitterly, poking his food with his chopsticks. He seemed to have lost his appetite.

Relena looked up in his direction. "John 3:16," she nodded in agreement; "Probably the most popular verse in the bible..." she commented, looking at him evenly; "I didn't know you were such a faithful Christian."

"I dunno 'bout the faithful part," Duo shrugged casually; "but it was sorta how I was raised... It's a long story..." he sighed, casting his eyes back down. "Suffice to say I got me 'nough Catholic guilt to last me a lifetime... The Sisters made _sure_ of that."

Relena nodded in understanding and turned to look out the window again. Roman Catholicism was the largest religious denomination on the L2 cluster, mainly among the colonies populated by an ex-Scottish and ex-Irish populace. She didn't know if 'Maxwell' was indeed Duo's last name, but regardless, it still hinted at his heritage. Recalling the horrifying stories she had heard about Catholic Mother-and-Baby Homes on L2, where unwed pregnant women were sent to give birth and were later forced to give up their children, she grimaced and closed her eyes briefly, trembling inside.

The decades-long abuse of women and their children at the hands of the Catholic-run institutions on L2 have been well established. The mortality rate at those notorious homes was appalling. Though the full details of what happened to those children may never fully be exposed, the strong implication of severe abuse and neglect could not be ignored even decades after. Harrowing news of horrific scandals rumbled on even to this day, constantly dominating the news for it seemed that a new report about the cavalier manner in which those children were once treated made the headlines every few days. It was a searing indictment of a colony already a home to too many scandals involving Church and state.

If Duo was indeed a survivor of that terrible system, his conflicted religious faith was understandable. His was a compulsory Catholic faith, a faithless faith; one he probably wished he could live without, but couldn't. In that respect, Heero was the lucky one; in the very least, he had been allowed the choice to disregard God altogether. She believed that he even found comfort in his keen aversion of God. He proclaimed himself an avid atheist, but she felt that despite his proclamation, to him God _did_ exist, only so he could hate Him. Denouncing and denying God was the only comfort Heero took from religious faith. 

"You complement each other..." she mumbled bleakly, gazing out at the falling snow; "a pseudo-Catholic and a pseudo-atheist..." she mumbled and Duo looked up from his takeout meal, frowning.

"Who? Heero? _Please_ ," he scoffed, "I dun think I've even heard him use the word _'God'_ once..."

Relena turned back to face him and smiled sadly. "True," she agreed; "Heero thinks that religious faith is nothing but a bunch of useless mumbo-jumbo..."

"Well... at least he started using words like _mumbo-jumbo_..." Duo offered jokingly; "that's progress, right?" he added with a sad smile of his own. The silence turned awkward as Relena studied him quietly for a moment.

"You're a sweet guy," she finally declared.

"I am?" he marveled at the compliment; "thought I was a real jerk," he reminded her, smirking.

She smiled back, shrugging casually. "Sometimes," she taunted; "but you're also kind of sweet... warm... genuine. It's very comforting. I've never realized that before."

"Nah... I just joke around cuz I'm fuckin' nervous, that all," Duo dismissed her unexpected claim; "It useta piss Heero off... I would talk his ear off and he... well... the guy could never take a joke. He'd clam-up... get all _intense_ when he was nervous and I was the exact opposite. It was a nasty combination. I swear to God the only common ground we ever found was the mind-blowing se—uh— See? Nervous jabbering... I'll shut up now. Heh..."

Relena's face fell sullen again. She cast her eyes down to stare at the table. They sat in silence for a while.

"I don't think that this... _Redeemer_ character is trying to offer anyone religious salvation," she determined bitterly and heaved a miserable sigh. "All he offers is death."

"A man after Heero's own heart..." Duo mumbled solemnly and placed his unfinished meal on the table. "God... that's... shit." He ran a hand through his long bangs, shaking his head regretfully. "He won't kill him unless Heero chooses."

"Then we are looking at a very long wait," Relena surmised. She turned to Duo again, his eyes shining sadly. "He isn't going to choose."

"Why not?"

"Because Heero doesn't care whether he lives or dies. He might have cared, for a while maybe... after the war, but then... he... he stopped caring again... when we lost Lizzie. Since then he just... keeps going. Just... existing... going through the motions... living until he dies."

"Waiting for death," Duo realized gloomily.

"Waiting for death," Relena confirmed, sighing. She resumed staring out the window, her blue eyes forlorn. It suddenly occurred to her that she was sitting in the company of a young man who had once cockily proclaimed himself the "God of Death". She couldn't help wondering if in essence _Duo_ was the kind of death Heero was _really_ waiting for... and if either of them even realized that Heero's choice should be obvious...

*     *     *

She had heard doctors refer to the ICU as _'God's Waiting Room'_. The term was callous, but it certainly felt accurate. She had spent long anxious days by Heero's bedside, waiting, listening to every shallow breath he drew. The doctors had removed the intubation and left her there, waiting fearfully to discover whether he'd be able to draw his next breath, or if she had just heard his last. Elizabeth spent most of the day sitting on a small colorful play mat on the floor, busying herself with various toys. Her presence only registered as gentle background noise, much like always. She'd ask for something every now and then, but otherwise didn't bother her much. It was easy to forget she was there.

After two days of terrifying waiting, the doctors determined that Heero was stable and began taking him off ICU sedation. It was hours more before he started waking up; that had been the longest wait.

At first, only a thin slit of blue appeared. He had cracked his left eye slightly open; the right one was still swollen shut. She had no idea how long he had been staring at her dully through a half-lidded eye, but when she finally noticed that he was watching her, she smiled. It was a big, goofy, idiotic smile of utter relief. She couldn't help it.

Heero blinked blearily, struggling to open both eyes. His left eye opened fully, but the right only halfway. He winced and groaned quietly; a small hoarse whimper escaping his parched throat. He was most likely beginning to feel the aches all over his body. She watched him carefully, tuned to every small change in his pale expression. He tried to move, but couldn't; he was too faint. His eyes shifted left and right, searching the room dreadfully. It took her a moment to realize what he was looking for and when she did she hurried to stand up, picked Elizabeth off the floor and held her up against her hip so Heero could see her.

"She's right here," she assured him quietly, smiling despite the tears flooding her eyes. "She's safe... she's right here."

For a long while, Heero did not tear his gaze off his young daughter. He lay still, staring numbly at his child until his eyes watered with tears. He blinked and they spilled, lingering to his long eyelashes. He closed his tired eyes and turned his head the other way, nodding gratefully. He drifted back into a deep, exhausted slumber. It was two days more before he awoke.

He got a bit better with each passing day. It was a slow and painful recovery, but he was determined to pull through. She was by his side every single day for as long as she could afford; their daughter was always there, playing quietly on the floor. Relena was certain that Heero took comfort in her presence, so she had persisted with bringing Elizabeth along... that is, until the day of the accident, after which she hadn't shown her face at the hospital for over a week.

When she finally mustered the courage and strength necessary to face him again, bearing news of Elizabeth's death, she couldn't step out of the elevator leading out to the ward where he was staying. Instead she punched the lobby button and planned on bolting out of the hospital, leaving the difficult task to another day... maybe never. But when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor and she was about to step out, Zechs was suddenly there, blocking her way. She looked up at her tall older brother, her bright blue eyes fierce and defiant – telling him to back off. He didn't budge and returned her gaze evenly. He took a step forward, entering the elevator, forcing her to take a step back inside. She glared at him resentfully, but said nothing as Zechs pressed the button leading up to Heero's floor, never facing her. The elevator doors closed and up they went in tense silence.

Like all of the other rooms at the surgical ward, Heero's small private room was surrounded by wall-to-wall windows covered with partially closed white slat-blinds, allowing the medical staff to peek into the room as they passed through the hallway. Zechs stopped a few steps short of the window so he won't be seen. Peeking between the slat-blinds, Relena could see that Heero was awake. He was sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, reading a book. He hadn't noticed their approach. She turned to Zechs, her eyes full of dread. She couldn't do it.

"He is her father," Zechs reprimanded quietly; "You've already denied him of the chance to attend the funeral... to say goodbye," he reminded her sullenly. "It's been ten days, Relena. There's no point postponing it any longer. He deserves to know. He has handled difficult news before..."

"Nothing like this," she whispered miserably. Zechs fell quiet, casting his gaze down to the floor. He knew she was right. Heero has handled much hardship in his twenty-two years of life, but nothing like this.

He suddenly recalled how Heero had offered him his hand for a handshake as he agreed to a selfish duel he had proposed after tracking the young pilot down in mid-war. Such a redundant battle in the grand scheme of things, but he could not help himself back then, he was obsessed with fighting the young and seemingly fearless pilot; a boy whose very existence belittled his masculinity.

However Heero had been but a child. He admitted to never shaking anyone's hand before as he offered his hand up cautiously, initiating the handshake in a gesture both timid and poised. Strange wasn't it, shaking hands with the enemy? But Heero Yuy was never truly a foe; never one to be regarded in a simplistic dichotomy of black and white. He was both a child and a man, guided by wisdom well beyond his years and at the same time misguided by the naivety of youth. Inexperience was part of the human condition; even the elderly were innocent children of their old age, never knowing what might lie ahead [[i]]. And although Heero had a lifetime of experienced pain and suffering from which to draw wisdom and strength, it was not enough. Nothing could ever prepare a person for the death of their child.

Relena sighed and slowly turned to face the room. She inhaled a deep, shaky breath... and walked slowly to the door. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, threatening to burst through her ribcage. She opened the door.

Heero looked up from his book. His intense blue gaze felt as solid as a punch to the chest. It held no criticism, but she could feel the question being asked as though he had spoken it verbally: he wanted to know where she has been for the past ten days and why she was suddenly here again, alone. He already knew something was wrong.

Relena hesitated a moment at the doorway before turning to close the door behind her. She approached his bed dreadfully. Her chair was still waiting there, vacant for over a week. Her gaze fell to the floor – the empty, empty floor where Elizabeth had played quietly for so many days. She fought back the tears and took a seat by his bed, struggling to remain composed as she looked at him, studying his face quietly.

He was dressed in a white dotted hospital gown, a wide loose collar revealing his prominent collarbone and the tip of the scar that ran from the bottom of his neck and down across his torso. He was connected to a monitor displaying his every bodily function, including heart rate and blood pressure, which currently registered at a normal 80 BPM and 100/60 mm Hg. He closed his book, leaving it on his blanket-covered lap, his right hand still resting on the cover. A finger-clip sensor was attached to his index finger, monitoring his heartbeat. Two of his other fingers were held in splints and his thumb was missing its fingernail. Her gaze lingered to the abused digits and her gut convulsed sickly as she was once again reminded of the extent of the abuse he had suffered.

She looked up to meet his eyes. He was still watching her coolly, waiting for her to speak. She couldn't. Her throat felt blocked, constricted... clamped shut. All she could do was to sit there motionlessly, hands resting limply over her lap, staring dully into Heero's eyes.

They were such a deep, enchanting shade of blue... It was amazing just how blue they could be sometimes. So clear, lucid, so alive... anguished, but alive. Despite everything, there was still resilience there, unbeatable determination to overcome, endure and survive. That was going to change as soon as she will open her mouth. She was about to become the one who takes that fierce fire away... extinguishing the light she was so terribly fond of... it wasn't fair! She couldn't bring herself to speak. She just kept looking into his eyes, savoring every single moment before she will be forced to take away the light shining within that amazing, lively, blue.

She had never seen that light diminish. No matter what, it was never vanquished... not even back then, in that ICU in Brussels... after Duo had left. The ever-defiant light had faded somewhat, dimmed sadly by a sense of quiet resignation. Heero was nothing if not reasonable. He knew that he was the one at fault, that Duo leaving was a choice he himself has made for the two of them; he had chased Duo away. She could tell by the slightly darkened shades in the deepest blue of his eyes that he had accepted that painful truth, as well as the decision not to fight over Duo.

The pain she was about to deliver now will not be the same. It will be far worse, because this time Heero didn't choose to hurt. On the contrary, he had suffered greatly to avoid it, to save his daughter's life. He had hung onto life against all odds and fought for recovery. If only she could wait until he was a bit stronger, healthier. But Zechs was right. She owed him this... he had to know.

Her silence was making him feel uneasy, she could tell. He didn't know what was going on, which upset him. His eyes shifted sideways, towards the window. She didn't follow his glance, but she could tell by the slight tensing of his facial muscles that he had spotted Zechs standing outside his room. He turned back to her, a demanding question burning in his eyes, waiting for her to tell him what went wrong.

The words would not come. Instead, she studied him lengthily, memorizing his face one last time before she delivered the punch that would shatter him completely. The doctors had to do some reconstructive plastic surgery to repair facial bone damage, but the surgeon had done a fantastic job. There were no traces of surgery, though she knew that there was a thin scar hidden under his unruly bangs, running across his hairline, where layers of skin had been peeled off to prevent scarring as they fixed the delicate facial bones underneath. She examined his face closely, as though to make sure that everything was indeed back in place... that Heero was still Heero... at least for a short while longer.

He was so handsome. His slightly Asian features, traces of a few generations of Asian/Caucasian cross-cultural breeding, made for an exotic and striking combination. She noted the light freckles that had formed on his cheeks after so many years of living under Earth's sun. She had never noticed them before, but they stood out now that he was so terribly pale. Their daughter's white porcelain face was the same – easily freckled. Being the last in a probably long genetic lineage of interracial relations, Elizabeth didn't inherit any of her father's diminished Asian traits, but her face had always reminded her of Heero. Her eyes were the same deep Prussian blue, not cerulean like hers. Their nose was also the same, as well as the high cheekbone structure. She was always reminded of him when looking at their daughter, but now, when she looked at him, all she could see was Elizabeth.

Her eyes watered with tears and this time she couldn't hold back the flood. She cast her eyes down sadly; unable to look into his eyes for a second longer or else she would break into loud sobs.

"Lena," he whispered her name softly; "tell me what happened."

She broke down crying, sobbing loudly. She shook her head repeatedly, unable to speak.

"Relena," he called her name quietly, reaching a hand up towards her, but she stopped him before he could touch her, shoving his hand away. She didn't deserve his comfort, his kindness... none of it. She buried her face in her hands, weeping brokenly.

Heero fell silent. He placed his hand back down on his lap, laying it over his book. He bowed his head, staring numbly at the book cover, and waited patiently. There was comfort in his silence too; the wordless understanding only he knew how to offer. She loved him so much for his strong temperance, for being her pillar of strength. She jumped out of her chair and hugged him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, catching him by complete surprise. She felt his body tense rigidly against her, shocked by the sudden embrace. She didn't care what he thought of her frantic move; all she wanted was to hold him for a minute... just one more moment of quiet grace. She rested her head against his chest, climbing on the bed so she was sitting next to him on her knees. She could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady... another great comfort. His heart rate was increasing; she could feel his heart pounding against her ear. She was causing him distress, but still he said nothing.

The heart monitor also picked up on Heero's rising stress levels. His blood pressure now registered at a higher 120/80 mm Hg, and his heart rate was climbing up to a strenuous 130 BPM.

She felt him start moving his arms up, maybe to push her away, maybe to hug back, but then he stopped, regretting it. He hesitated for another moment before moving them again. He returned the embrace, holding her awkwardly with stiff arms, pulling her closer into the embrace.

His blood pressure now registered 130/90 mm Hg; heart rate at a dangerous 175 BPM and still rising...

"Lena..." he whispered shakily against her other ear; "Tell me."

Standing outside the room, peeking through the slat-blinded window, Zechs watched the two carefully. He saw Relena pull back slowly, releasing Heero from her strong embrace. Her face was soaked with tears, makeup smearing down her cheeks. She climbed off the bed and stood by his bedside, holding his hand. More of her tears overflowed when she finally opened her mouth to speak. He could not hear her or read her lips from between the blinds, but he could tell that she was crying the words out with helpless sobs. At some point, Heero let go of her hand, pulling away. He sat completely still, rigid, listening to her mutely, his expression eerily stoic. From a distance it looked like he was taking the news well, or perhaps he was unable to process what he was being told just yet, but then suddenly an alarm was blaring loudly and Heero was convulsing on the bed. The heart monitor flat-lined and a nearby nurse declared a Code Blue. A team of doctors rushed into the room with a crash cart.

Heero's already strained heart couldn't take the news of his daughter's death. He went into cardiac arrest. As the doctors fought to restart his heart, Relena stood aside, weeping brokenly. Zechs watched the chaotic scene with an unreadable expression. Only his cerulean blue eyes shone sadly, betraying the tragic realization that he had just witnessed what no amount of grueling military training, battle-scarring years of fighting for the militia or the years spent as a Preventer CTD operative had managed to do to Heero Yuy: his most worthy and formidable foe was vanquished by no other than his little sister...

*     *     *

Memories would not let her be. They were a punishment she endured willingly... almost gratefully. It was a personal badge of shame she had learned to accept as a price for her sin. She was no martyr; she just knew that she deserved the pain... the haunting, unrelenting and heavy angst one carried in their heart for clipping the wings of an angel. She was the one responsible for the hurt in Heero's eyes. The single wound he could never recover from belonged to her, and she lived with that understanding in infamy.

Another day had passed in bitter contemplation while waiting for a phone call that may never come. By late afternoon, Shaw kicked her out of the meeting room and told her to go back to the hotel, get some rest. Duo was nowhere to be found.

It had completely slipped her mind that it was Christmas Eve. She had stepped out of her car in front of the hotel and her driver wished her a very tactless Merry Christmas. She had paused, dazed for a moment, caught completely unprepared. She mumbled back a halfhearted _'Merry Christmas'_ and slammed the door shut behind her. She walked into the lobby, suddenly painfully aware of all the decorations, the merry tunes and carols... the whole Christmas shebang was thrust into her face, beckoning the return of a personal nightmare. She dashed towards the elevator, seeking sanctuary in a room devoid of any hints of the holiday.

 She took a quick shower and went straight to bed, no dinner. She couldn't eat. Nighttime cast shadows around her small hotel room. She lay in the dark, curled on the bed and gazed numbly ahead at the unveiled window. The city of New York stared back blankly, offering no comfort. She held her smartphone in her hand, sprawled in front of her on the bed, as if keeping her finger ready to quickly answer any incoming call would make any difference. She checked it from time to time, even though she couldn't possibly have missed a call, unlocking the touch-screen just so she would feel that she was doing something.

The same screensaver image greeted her each time she pressed on the main button before unlocking the phone. Seeing it was much like taking a punch to the face; it was a masochistic torture she deliberately inflicted on herself: looking at the picture Cassandra had sent her the day she died, the only photo of Heero and Elizabeth together. The young nanny had secretly taken the photograph while Heero had stopped to tie Lizzie's shoelaces at the entrance of the National Museum of Natural History; before the three had entered what later became a living Hell. Wishing to share the rare moment, Cassie had sent her the picture. Despite being in a middle of a meeting, Relena took a peek, smiling warmly, and then forwarded the photo to Heero's phone with a teasing text message saying: _'Part of the job description? ;-P'_ ; to which he had later replied: _'All in a day's work'_.

When she unlocked the touch screen, the photo vanished, replaced by a standard wallpaper image. She entered the photo gallery and sought it out again. She zoomed in for a closer look. The photo captured Heero and their daughter standing next to a large white stone pillar at the entrance of the museum. Lizzie's dishwater-blonde hair was gathered into two long pigtails, but her blonde bangs were tousled and messy; it must have been windy. She was wearing her pink coat and matching pink sneakers. She remembered how Elizabeth had insisted on wearing her favorite pink ballet-slippers shoes that morning, despite Cassandra's protests and useless implores that they will hurt her feet while touring the US Capital all day long. She remembered the subsequent tantrum, and that Cassie had packed a spare pair of shoes – pink sneakers – just in case.

In the picture, Heero was kneeling in front of Lizzie, tying the shoelaces of said pink sneakers. Elizabeth must have complained about aching feet and he – ever the pragmatic – must have managed to finally convince her to replace her ballet shoes with something more practical, thus stepping out of the role of a mere bodyguard and unintentionally stepping into the shoes of a parent – pun intended. If one was unfamiliar with the actual context of the photo, one would assume that it was a simple documentation of a natural, everyday moment between father and daughter. Heero looked nothing like a guard. He was dressed casually in black jeans and a navy-blue Sherpa-fleece-lined corduroy jacket, head bowed down slightly so that his messy bangs obscured his eyes partially, his long fingers wrapped around the pink laces. Elizabeth's head was also bowed, looking down at how he was tying her shoes.

She zoomed in on his face, studying it wretchedly with tearful eyes. Heero's blue eyes were focused on the mundane chore with the same gravity, care and dutiful dedication he devoted to any task he had to perform. God knows she had never devoted her daughter so much attention like Heero had given her at that very moment. Taking care of Elizabeth when Cassandra was not around was more of an unwelcomed chore she wanted to get out of the way as soon as possible, rather than a duty she fulfilled willingly and gladly as a mother should. Caring for her daughter was all about technicalities, never enjoyable. Feed, clothe and bathe her... get her to bed as soon as possible so she will have some peace and quiet and could get back to work. It was shameful, but true. There was no point denying it, even after losing her child. She never wanted to be a mother. She didn't have the time or emotional means to care for a child. Elizabeth only got in the way of her political ambitions. The only reason she had carried her child to term was because she refused to terminate a life. She might be a ruthless pragmatic, but she was no murderer.

It had taken many therapy sessions before she was finally able to admit that a part of her was relieved when Lizzie died; relieved that she didn't have to torture herself for her inadequacies as a mother or to feel  hindered by her daughter's very existence. It was an awful truth she had only admitted once, in therapy, and since then she just buried the shame deep inside, denying it whenever it threatened to rise to the surface again. She told herself that she felt devastated for losing her daughter, guilty for not paying attention when she should have, and ashamed of never spending enough time with her while she was still alive. That was what good mothers were supposed to feel while grieving for a dead child, so she had learned to feel that way, telling herself the same lies over and over again, until they became true.

She was, in fact, a hypocrite; which was why she could never truly understand the pain she had caused Heero. Heero's emotions were complex, but always genuine; intense and overwhelming. He might try to suppress and deny them most of the time, but he never ignored what he felt. He was guided by his emotions more than he liked to admit, because despite his many efforts, they were undeniable. Emotions burnt in him zealously, breaking out like lava slipping through cracks in the earth, always bubbling beneath a cool, hard surface. She imagined it must be very difficult living that way; feeling as intensely as he often did, yet being forced to hide, bury and conceal... pretend he didn't feel when in fact he was burning up inside, always in turmoil. His self-control was commendable; an exceptional restraint that fooled many, even himself at times... but not her; not after so many years of fighting the storms raging within him.

Trained and indoctrinated to military perfection, Heero rarely let those raging storms show, but when he did – it was far too intense to bear. He simply didn't know how to regulate the powerful forces constantly tearing him up inside. When he lost control, he lost it completely. There were times when even his extraordinary willpower was not enough to bring him back from the brink of madness. At times when he finally succumbed and allowed himself to let go – often in bed – the result was devastating. There was intense aggressiveness in him; primal, dangerous and unstoppable. Not once had she recoiled from his demanding, fervent touch... she couldn't handle him in bed, no matter how much she wanted to connect with him on such an intimate and passionate level. So in time Heero had learned to turn to her for other things, seeking comfort, using her as an aid to cool down the magma sizzling under his skin, always aching to erupt. They were friends, good friends, and yet she still loved him as something more... always the selfish hypocrite. She wanted his heart, no matter how battered and broken, but she knew that she was no longer worthy of it.

If Heero ever came back from this, she will tell him that once and for all. He could not have her; not in his bed and not in his life – enough. Since he couldn't make the choice he's been avoiding for close to a decade, she will make it for him. He mustn't choose her, never again, and she will make certain that he won't. It will be a last act of friendship... an act of love, of redemption.

And as if somewhere out there someone was reading her mind, Relena's smartphone suddenly rang.

The caller ID read: _'Heero'_.

*     *     *

 

 

[i]Quoting Milan Kundera


	9. TR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Heero's recollections of the grueling fourteen hours spent at the hands of the WFLM in the National Museum of Natural History were nothing but a pain-soaked murky haze occasionally igniting with erratic snapshots rupturing the fog. It was like looking at whatever was happening through a distorted lens; time and space twisted and blurred, becoming almost indistinguishable. No real linear pattern, no clear visuals... just snaps of reality flashing sporadically in the dark. It was one big bloody mess, intense and brutal – the makings of a nightmare.

It was dark. Visions of a misty dimness skewed and spiraled... the world around him swaying constantly from side to side as though hanging by a thread. It was hard to see, to focus... he could barely think. A part of his somewhat conscious mind supplied him with a reason: he was severely concussed... lying in the dark, unable to move. Yes... that made sense. He and the rest of the hostages sat huddled in a dark and remote corner in the back of the IMAX Theater at the museum's ground floor, hidden from sight behind the partition holding the large screen. Seven burly men had dragged them there at gunpoint after the 13:00 PM show – the last before closing time. He vaguely remembered Elizabeth whining that she wanted to eat and that Cassandra had promised that they were going to have lunch now, but then all hell broke loose and... He couldn't recall, but he knew that by 13:30 PM, the museum doors had closed early for the holiday, the exhibition halls were emptied, thirteen visitors had never left the IMAX Theater and none was the wiser. An hour later, the WFLM started making demands.

Another image burst into the darkness. He could see himself dashing forward, leaping into a hopeless fight. He had tried to fight them when they came for the first hostage, about to drag the frightened young woman behind the IMAX screen to be executed. It didn't end well. They overpowered him five to one. As he was launching an attack on one thug, another slammed the back of his rifle into the left side his head, splitting the skull. Blood had gushed out in torrents. White-hot pain erupted from nowhere, flooding everything like a nuclear explosion. He must have collapsed to the floor and blacked out for a moment, because suddenly it was dark... and quiet... only a shrilling beeping sound ringing in his ears.

There was a dim sensation of firm hands searching his body, roaming over him callously, rummaging through his pockets and feeling him up for hidden weapons. They found his sidearm and his Preventer badge...

He was yanked off the floor; the world tumbling wildly around him. Then came the brutal beating – more pain overwhelmed every single cell in his body; an upsurge of blazing agony blasting through him with each pounding. Two burly men held him up by his dangling arms, forcing him to sit on his knees, head sagging down low, while a third and a forth bully delivered an endless beating, right there, in front of the horrified eyes of the eleven remaining hostages, including his daughter and her nanny. The beating was merciless... their solid limbs pounding into him again and again. White flashes splintered the darkness surrounding him, pain slicing through his semi-conscious mind:

The back of a rifle slammed into his kneecap, crushing it. Another rifle smashed into him from behind, hitting the back of his thighs forcefully, shattering his femoral shaft bones. A kick to the gut... A punch to his face... More pain... again, and again, and again... He didn't utter a sound.

They wanted him to tell them who had he been assigned to guard. They had already figured it was Elizabeth, and they wanted to know why. He didn't tell them... not one word... and just kept taking the beating. He didn't know for how long. He couldn't remember anything but the pain. Everything else faded away... drowned-out by the loud ringing in his ears and the sheer agony tearing through him... until Cassandra's voice suddenly pierced through the torment with a frantic, helpless shout:

"It's Darlian!" she screamed, crying desperately; "Elizabeth Darlian! The senator's child! Please! Let him go! Please! You're killing him!!!"

And they let him go, releasing him from their crushing grip. He crashed head-first onto the floor, collapsing like a corpse. His whole body had numbed, but still throbbed. His head was swimming; the darkness crept up on him in small, persistent waves. He remembered the feeling of blood sheeting down his face; more of it caked his hair, which was plastered uncomfortably over his forehead. Lying prone on the floor, he glared up at the foolish young nanny through half-lidded eyes and bloody bangs, furious that she had broken-down and revealed the true identity of his daughter. It didn't matter though, because a while later the woman was also dead – the third to be executed. There was nothing he could do... nothing. He was barely conscious... drifting in and out of blackness.

He recalled the silence after Cassandra was shot. It was a grieving, stunned silence disturbed only by Elizabeth's tears and heartbroken sobs. She wanted her nanny... she couldn't grasp what it meant losing her. Her wretched wails stirred something in him... urging him to move. It was so hard dragging himself off of the floor... crawling towards her... gathering her into his arms for the first time. She was so heavy... a burden. He felt sick and threw up, whirling his head aside so he won't heave all over his daughter. She was still sobbing... her cries piercing his heart like a sharp blade. It hurt so much seeing her weep over her beloved caregiver.

His stomach churned uneasily and his heart pounded painfully. Sympathy for his daughter's pain swamped him with helplessness and grief he hadn't felt since early childhood. Repressed sensations emerged from a dark abyss he hadn't approached in years. They rose from the pit like acid vapor. Unbearable anguish washed over him, flooding his eyes with tears. He didn't know how to soothe her, but he ached to ease his daughter's hurt just as much as he had yearned for someone to soothe him when he had cried... before the tears ran out and his heart became arid.

She was his flesh and blood... her pain was his... wholeheartedly.

He sat leaning heavily against the theater wall and held Elizabeth cradled in his arms, trying to offer some kind of comfort without really knowing how. Holding her pressed securely against him felt like the most natural thing to do, so he held on tightly.

He was so relieved when the small girl finally fell asleep, exhausted from tears and hunger. Silence fell... at least for a while. He must have drifted off again, because the next thing he could recall was jerking awake at the sound of a girl screaming.

By then there were eight people left, including Elizabeth and himself: an African American family of three: a mother, father and a young son; a teenage couple – a boy and a girl; and an older man. One of the guards was trying to haul the teenage boy away. The girlfriend was shrieking hysterically: "It's not time yet! It's not even his turn! No! Don't! Please!"

He gaped at the chaotic scene dazedly before his concussed mind was able to connect the dots and assess the situation. The boy wasn't being dragged for execution... no; the darkness gleaming dangerously in the guard's eyes suggested that his plans for the boy were of a different kind... and the poor kid was terrified, trying to resist being dragged away. He wasn't much of a fighter, his physique too awkward and lanky.

Elizabeth woke up and started crying again. Her helpless sobs blended with the panicked squealing of the boy's girlfriend. His head hurt... so much. He just wanted them to stop...

His body shrieked in protest when he moved. His thigh bones were fractured... they flared-up with sweltering pain when he tried to stand, still holding Elizabeth cradled in his arms. She was so heavy... He struggled up to his feet, swaying from side to side. He handed Elizabeth to the young African woman sitting next to him, holding her own small child. She looked up at him in silent understanding and accepted his daughter into her arms as well.

He turned around, wavering woozily, fighting waves of nausea and pain, yet somehow he managed to walk on two fractured legs towards the guard dragging the teenage boy away. Jolts of flashing white pain exploded behind his eyes with each agonizing step.

Two other guards stepped forward, weapons cocked and ready to fire at him. Heero ignored them. He flung a hand forward and grabbed the impious thug's hand tightly, stopping him. The guard whirled around, angry. He returned the man's gaze evenly, not even a slight falter in his voice as he whispered quietly: "I'll come with you. I won't fight."

The older man frowned warily, studying him with dark eyes. He ran his disgusting gaze up and down his body doubtingly.

"How old are you?" he asked gruffly, but had already let go of the boy. The frightened teenager hurried to scramble away, back to his girlfriend. Everyone was watching. He could feel their eyes on his back.

"Old enough to know what I'm doing," he replied calmly, looking the burlier man straight in the eye; "Young enough to be what you want."

The guard grabbed him forcefully by his chin, turning his head left and right, examining his bruised and bloody face.

"Alright," he finally determined, and let go. He gestured with his hand towards a nearby emergency exit door. "C'mon," he grunted, and he followed the man silently. He could still feel every eye in the room on him as the door closed behind him with a final _'thud!'_

He now stood in the Human Origin exhibition hall adjacent to the IMAX Theater. It was dark; only dim lights shone inside various human-size glass display-cases containing ancient human skeletons, and over numerous stages exhibiting reenactments of prehistoric habitats scattered along the large L-shaped hall. Dozens of pairs of glass eyes were there to greet him, gleaming eerily under faint illumination. From the ape-like Homo-habilis, to more advance forms in human evolution and finally the Homo-sapiens... they all stared at him mutely as the guard ushered him forward at gunpoint. The rifle's barrel poked his back, constantly bumping into him as he wobbled tiredly towards one of the primal habitats.

His memories from that point on were sketchy... images he had fought hard to suppress. Everything seemed to suddenly be moving in tense slow motion. It was like he was watching a movie about his life and not really experiencing any of it. He saw himself being stopped at the foot of a stage bearing a display of a savanna-like habitat where a group of Homo-erectus loin-clothed males were standing around a fresh animal kill.

A hand grabbed him hard by his shoulder. He was whirled back around, away from the stage, facing the guard again.

The man reached down to unbuckle his own belt and unzip his pants. He let them drop to his ankles along with his boxers, exposing his hard manhood.

Heero looked up, meeting the man's dark eyes.

The thug glared at him sternly. He stared back stoically, knowing what was expected of him. Slowly, he knelt down in front of the man. His left kneecap exploded on impact as it touched the floor. He winced, closing his eyes. He could smell the unpleasant acrid scent of the other man's groin. He licked his parched lips to dampen them... and took the man's erect phallus into his mouth. He didn't think. He just did it... he didn't know for how long. All he remembered was trying to resist his gag reflex.

The man's hand suddenly yanked a fistful of his blood-clotted hair, stopping him. He pulled back, releasing the man from his mouth, and looked up. The brute tugged his hair, turning his head around. He got the hint and turned on his knees to face the stage, wavering heavily. It was a low stage, reaching just below his waist. There was dirt on it; dry tall-grass, gravel and rocks. He stared at them dazedly, and reached two trembling hands to unbutton his black jeans. He fumbled with the zipper with anxious fingers.

He didn't want to do this...

He pulled his pants down along with his underwear in one swift go, exposing his behind. The room was freezing. The cold bit mercilessly into his privates. He fixed his numb gaze on the earth-covered stage.

He didn't want to do this.

A strong hand shoved him down by his back, titling his torso downwards forcefully so that his chest slammed against the stage below, colliding with dry soil and grass. Dust bellowed up in the air by the force of the impact, filling his nostrils. He coughed. Gravel and dirt scuffed his face, scarping his already bruised cheek.

Bent over the stage, sitting on his knees, his nude behind was pointed towards the man. Firm hands grabbed him tightly by his hips, steadying him in a crushing grip. He felt the man lean over him heavily, his hard erection poking his anus; slick with his own saliva... but not wet enough.

He flung a pair of desperate arms forward over the stage, gripping two large prop-rocks. He curled his fists around them tightly, denting the hard-foam surface. He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching, and braced himself for the pain that was to come.

The man forced himself inside his body... slowly. Screams and tears built up inside of him, but he fought them off, pushing them back... refusing to succumb. The pain intensified with each agonizing inch. Then, the man moved, thrusting in deeply. Smoldering-hot pain erupted and his mind splintered into a million pieces scattering all around. He didn't mean to scream, but after a while all he could hear were his own tortured shrills echoing in the dark...

"Are you enjoying yourself, little boy?" his rapist wanted to know and he had gritted a pitiable 'yes' through clenched teeth, tears squeezing out of his eyes.

 **DID YOU?** The Voice wanted to know; it bombarded the air around him, echoing within the dim Human Origin hall. Heero squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, shaking his head in denial against the dirt-covered stage.

"No..." he strained to speak over the pain; "I had to do it... I had to... I didn't want to... I had to..." he whispered pitiably, his fingers curling frantically around the prop-rocks he was holding onto. The foam had long caved under his crushing grip. Sharp metal wires dug into his flesh, biting his skin, drawing blood. He was still being violated; his behind was on fire. He wanted it to end. Everything just... end.

"I had to do something... I had to... I... I had to..."

**DID YOU EJACULATE?**

The man was still thrusting into him forcefully.

"...yes..." he whimpered, eyes closed... ashamed.

**DID YOU ENJOY IT?**

"No!" he howled, mortified, raising his head up and shaking it frantically. "No..." he whispered weakly, drained, and rested his head back down against the dirty stage, dry earth and leaves scraping his cheeks. "I just wanted him to... to stop... already..."

**YOU THOUGHT HE'D STOP IF HE SAW YOU COME?**

He nodded helplessly, eyes closed, tears streaking his bruised cheeks.

 **IT WAS SELF DEFENSE** , the Voice deduced.

"He didn't... stop... just kept... going..."

**HOW MANY TIMES?**

"I don't know... don't know..." he murmured weakly, so tired of the violation; "I lost count... There were... there were... three of them... different one... each time... again... and again... I... I didn't fight, so..."

They took him separately and then at once. He was forced to go down on one while the other fucked him from behind and the third watched, jerking off. They let him rest for a while after he had lost consciousness, but once he was awake the torture resumed.

"T-they... they said... they didn't even like boys... t-two more... they... wanted me to... to moan like a girl... so loud the others will hear... they took turns... three of them... in every habitat... taking turns... apes... watching me... dead eyes... watching... in the dark... they fucked me... like a girl... and everybody was watching..."

The nightmare faded to black... arms releasing him from their painful grip around his hips. His ass didn't hurt so much now... just throbbing. Finally, he could rest. Alone in the dark, he could finally sleep... drifting... drowning... fading away... melting into the silence...

But then the Voice was back, vibrating through his core... digging in deeper... and deeper... violating him as well.

 **WERE YOU ABLE TO SEXUALLY PERFORM SINCE THE RAPE?** It demanded to know.

He thought about it for a moment, trying hard to retrieve something solid out of the fog obscuring his mind. He remembered walking unannounced into her office once day, still clutching the negative HIV test results in his fist. He had taken the test three months after the rape and once he got the results he felt so relieved that suddenly all the anger and depression stepped aside for a moment and all he wanted to do was pin her against the large leather sofa in her office and reclaim all the things he had lost, and could never get back...

"...yes..." he whispered, moaning; "I... yes... I did..."

 **WITH A MAN OR A WOMAN?** The Voice inquired sternly.

New images flashed in his head, more snapshots: Nights of quick, hot and shameless passion... repeated attempts to reassert, reconnect... regain control. His aggressiveness knew no bounds. It was too much... _he_ was too much... and...

"I hurt her..." he answered blearily, ashamed.

**WOULD THAT BE RELENA DARLIAN?**

"...yes..." he admitted bashfully. Relena didn't like it... said he was not himself. He never meant to hurt her... never... not the way they had hurt him... but he was so angry... so... _wounded_. He needed her to take the pain away... make him himself again, but she couldn't. Something had changed... he was still hurting. He had to look for relief elsewhere.

"There were others..." he recalled vaguely; "dunno who... I was always... I... I was... drunk..."

**DOES RELENA KNOW?**

"...maybe... probably... I was with her assistant too..."

 **DOES SHE KNOW ABOUT THE _RAPE_** , the Voice clarified and Heero paused, and then shook his head.

"No..." he whispered almost inaudibly; "No one... knows..."

He was so terribly injured that the bruising around his hips and genitals simply blended in with the rest of the horrors. One doctor had carefully asked him about the anal lacerations, but he refused to confirm the man's suspicions. It. Never. Happened.

**YOU HAVE TO TELL HER.**

"No! No... No... I... I can't... no..."

**SHE HAS TO KNOW.**

"No... Please... no one needs to know..."

**YOU CAN'T KEEP THESE THINGS BOTTLED UP, HEERO. YOU'RE GOING TO TELL HER. TALKING IT OUT IS THE ONLY CURE.**

"No!" he cried out piteously; "Please..."

**YOU WILL TELL HER WHAT THEY DID TO YOU.**

"No... No... I can't... don't make me... she doesn't need to know... no one needs to know..."

**WHY? BECAUSE YOU ASKED FOR IT?**

He was sobbing now, unable to stop. He was so ashamed... he didn't want anyone to know... They all heard him... moaning… calling out like a whore... The cavemen were watching... they saw... they knew... no one should ever know... he had to do it... he had to...

"I had to... I had to..." he wailed over and over; "I'm sorry... I had to... I'm sorry..."

 **WHY ARE YOU SORRY?** The Voice asked harshly; **IS IT BECAUSE YOU FEEL ASHAMED FOR ENJOYING IT?**

"I didn't! I didn't!" he shrilled, horrified by the accusation; "I... I didn't... it... it... I had to do it... I had to or they would've killed me... I couldn't die... I couldn't die..."

**DID YOU WANT TO DIE?**

"...yes... yes... every time... with each one of them... but I couldn't... I couldn't fight... and I couldn't die... I just... I... I had to... to do it... had to live..."

**SO YOU ASKED FOR MORE.**

"Yes..." he whimpered miserably, nodding his head in disgrace; "Every time... again... and again... there was no one else left except me and Lizzie... there was no one else they could hurt... and still I... every time and... and again... again... just don't kill her... please... I'll do it... I can... I can still move... I... I'll move... I... I will... anything... please..."

**YOU COOPERATED.**

"Yes..."                   

**YOU WERE THEIR WHORE.**

"They called me a faggot... laughing... The apes were watching... they saw... always watching... like I never left that place... Don't look at me! I didn't want it! I... I had to do it... I'm sorry... I'm sorry!"

**YOU BOUGHT YOUR DAUGHTER'S LIFE BY OFFERING YOUR ASS LIKE A RANDY WHORE.**

"I'm so sorry!" he cried, whimpering brokenly; "I'm sorry..."

**YOU DID ALL THAT FOR YOUR DAUGHTER BUT THEN RELENA LET HER DIE. HOW DID THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?**

An ache pierced his heart sharply, bringing back a painful dose of reality, and Heero gasped, jerking into full awareness. The museum vanished. The apes were gone. It was dark... and he was alone... no more bad men touching him. He was alone; alone and... He was still tied down to that chair; naked, vulnerable... utterly exposed... violated by words.

The Voice was still talking.

 **WERE YOU ANGRY?** It demanded urgently, but he couldn't answer. Words vanished, replaced by hurt. He could never answer that question...

" _Urgh!_ " a scream was torn from his throat; he only realized it when he heard it echoing in the dark. He sounded like a wounded animal. A gush of agonizing white-hot eruptions wracked through him. He was being electrocuted again.

"No! Stop!" he shrieked, terrified; rendered completely helpless by the overbearing pain blazing through him in persistent hot currents. The pain compelled him to speak... it was the only way to stop it.

"I... I wasn't angry..." he wailed weakly; "no... I... I... not... not angry... not at her..."

The pain decreased, receding slowly until it was gone. He slumped gratefully into the reclined chair, sighing feebly, relieved.  The Voice was right... talking made it better... made the pain stop. He should just keep talking... keep the Voice happy...

 **WHAT DID YOU FEEL THEN?** The Voice asked more softly this time.

"...ashamed..." he whispered without even thinking. The words came out freely... speaking on their own... saying things he never meant to say... just as long as he kept talking...

 **WHY?** Was the subsequent question. He had to think about that one for a while, his mind drifting, searching the raging seas for an answer.

"Be...because... because I... I felt... I... I was... I... I was... relieved..."

 **YOU WERE RELIEVED THAT YOUR DAUGHTER DIED?** The Voice marveled accusingly.

He couldn't answer that. He couldn't... He was so ashamed... he couldn't... so the pain returned, the world exploding into burning white again.

"—yes!!!" he cried out in agony, convulsing in his restraints; "Yes! I'm—I'm sorry... yes..."

The pain receded once more, the tension dissipating from his shuddering muscles. He wheezed harshly, unable to speak. Everything hurt.

 **WHY?** The Voice still wanted to know.

"B-because..." he panted shallowly, struggling to form words he didn't even know he had in him; "b-because..." but he couldn't get those words out... he couldn't.

 **BECAUSE WHAT?** The Voice threatened and he knew that if he won't answer it soon the pain would flare-up again.

"Because... I... I was... I was... I was... spared..."

**SPARED?**

He nodded his head weakly, tears of shame streaming down his gaunt face.

"Yes... her death... it spared me from... from being... her father... from... from bringing a life... into... into this world... seeing her grow... realizing... what kind of a world... this is... She... she... Elizabeth died... she died... happy... playing... They... they said... it was... painless... she didn't feel anything, just... slipped off... away... peacefully... without... without ever... she never understood all the... all the ugliness she saw... that night... at the museum... she just... she died before she was old enough to understand..."

 **UNLIKE YOU** , the Voice determined and he nodded, agreeing.

"Yeah..." he sniffled quietly, the tears calming somewhat; "She... she... she will never be damaged... like... like me..."

**DO YOU THINK THAT BRINGING CHILDREN INTO THIS WORLD IS SELFISH HUMAN BEHAVIOR?**

"...yes... very..." he mumbled wearily, wishing to sleep. He was so tired of talking... feeling... breathing... hurting... so tired...

 "We're... we're not... we don't ask to be... born..." he said, slurring the words out blearily; "never ask to... to... to suffer through... through this... life..." Another cold grip of sadness curled around his heart, squeezing out more tears. "M-my m-mother... she... she never should have... never should have had me..."

**AND RELENA SHOULDN'T HAVE HAD YOUR CHILD?**

He nodded, crying silently.

**ARE YOU ANGRY WITH HER FOR GOING THROUGH WITH THE PREGNANCY, FOR BEING AS SELFISH AS YOUR MOTHER?**

Again he nodded his head, weeping miserably.

**HOW DOES IT FEEL TO FINALLY ADMIT THAT?**

"I... it's... it's just another... another reason to... to... to hate... myself..."

**ARE YOU ASHAMED FOR FEELING THIS WAY?**

He gave another weak nod of his head, shedding more tears of shame.

**AND ARE YOU ANGRY THAT YOU HAD TO SUFFER THROUGH THE SHAME OF BEING RAPED IN ORDER TO PROCTECT A CHILD YOU NEVER WANTED, A DAUGHTER THAT SHOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN BORN?**

"...yes..."

**AND THEN SHE DIED... AND YOUR PAIN BECAME OBSOLETE, IRRELEVANT... USELESS. ARE YOU ANGRY FOR THAT TOO?**

"...yes..."

 **YOU SUFFERED FOR NOTHING** , the Voice concluded. **RELENA HAS LET YOU DOWN. SHE HAS TORN YOU DOWN.**

"...yes..." he wept.

**THEN TELL HER THAT.**

"I can't... I can't..." he moaned feebly; "Please... just... let me... sleep..."

The emergency door closed behind him with another loud _'thud!'_ and he was inside the back of the IMAX Theater again. He was naked. After all three men had taken turns with him, they wouldn't let him put his clothes back on so he held them balled up against his groin, hiding his nakedness. People were looking. He kept his head bowed, avoiding their prying eyes, as the bully who had taken him first nudged him forward at gun point. He was ushered limping towards the rest of the hostages, shoved so hard he nearly dropped the clothes each time the rifle poked his bare back, causing him to stumble. His arms were trembling, his knees shaking. Blood ran down his naked thighs. He was so cold, so tired. He just wanted to lie down... and sleep.

The man finally let him be and walked away. He stood there for moment, dazed, his eyes searching the room until he found his daughter. She was lying on the floor next to the little African toddler; the two were sleeping, curled together like twins in the womb. They were covered by a man's large coat. He vaguely recalled seeing the toddler's father wearing that coat.

Relieved that he didn't have to tend to her right now, he found himself a secluded corner and slowly laid himself down on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, and curled into himself, hugging his clothes against him. He could not close his eyes even though fatigue begged him to surrender to slumber. People were still watching him in silent trepidation. He stared back numbly. The teenage boy he had saved was looking at him uneasily. Their eyes met and the boy looked away, ashamed. Heero closed his eyes. He was so tired...

Someone approached him. His clothes were pulled gently out of his weak grasp. He curled inwards even more, pulling his legs up to his chest, hiding in a futile attempt to keep a shred of dignity. He struggled to open his eyes, blinking repeatedly until they opened. His right eye was swollen, refusing to fully open. His vision was blurry and it was dark, but he could make out the dim silhouettes of two women leaning over him – the teenage girl and the toddler's mother.

They dressed him, gently, guiding his bloody legs into his boxer shorts, carefully raising his hips slightly off the floor to pull them up to his waist. He let out a small whimper and cringed; it hurt so much. They helped him into his jacket, carefully turning him and lifting his trembling arms into the sleeves. The white Sherpa-fleece-lined collar was bloody, but the fabric was soft and warm. The warmth beckoned him to sleep, but his tense muscles refused to relax. There was so much pain. He looked up sluggishly, struggling even with this small movement. The African woman was leaning over him, gazing at him sadly. Her eyes were tearful and her dark face was streaked with tears. He realized that he hadn't seen her husband when he walked back into the theater. Only the man's coat remained, covering both their children.

His eyes watered with grief-stricken tears. He was so sorry. His bloody lips parted, but he could not form a sound. The woman smiled at him sadly, accepting his sympathy. She folded his black jeans and placed them gently under his head as a cushion. She caressed his face gently, weeping silent tears, and pulled away. The teenage girl gave him this guilty look and then walked away as well, back to her boyfriend.

He rested his head heavily against the makeshift-pillow and closed his eyes, sighing. He begged sleep to come and take him away from this nightmare...

Bright white light flooded everything, blinding him, hurting his tired eyes. The projector hanging above the chair has been switched on. Heero moaned, closing his eyes and turning away, grimacing under the painful assault. He blinked, struggling to adjust to the light. His head was lolling to the side, facing away from the unbearable glow.

Dr. Sloan was there again, standing next to the instruments tray. He picked up a plastic mouth-guard and slipped it into Heero's mouth forcefully. Somewhere within the mess cluttering his mind, Heero managed to register that his jaw didn't hurt as badly as before. Sloan must have given him some antibiotics via the IV still dripping into his vein.

The doctor turned to the ECT machine and adjusted the dials. Heero lay limply on the reclined chair, watching him numbly. It was a while before his mind was able to process what was about to happen, but by then it was too late. Sloan flipped the switch and the machine came to life again, pumping 150 volts of electric currents into him repetitively. His naked body stiffened, jerking off the chair. It remained arched rigidly up in the air, held down by the leather straps. His fingers curled, fists clamping. His jaw clenched tightly around the mouth-guard. His Prussian blue eyes flew wide open, staring unseeingly up ahead. He writhed in his bonds, muscles convulsing. He was moaning helplessly into the mouth gag, letting out muffled sounds of pain and distress. He started gurgling, choking on his own saliva.

While his patient squirmed helplessly on the chair, Dr. Sloan circled around it, pulling a few levers to maneuver the reclining chair into a different pose, tilting it to a near sitting position so that Heero's legs were now down and his torso slanted slightly upwards. The ECT machine whirred loudly; Heero was still being electrocuted. Now seated more or less upright, the sickly gurgling stopped; he was able to breathe again. Drool dripped down his bristly chin.

Sloan reached under the chair and retrieved a set of leg-rests. He attached them to the bottom of the chair. There was a metallic stirrup at the edge of each one. The reclining chair was thus transformed into what looked more like a gynecologist's chair. Using gloved hands, he unfastened Heero's convulsing, bare, legs from the restraints holding them down to the lower part of the chair. The young man's toes were curled tightly, his legs stiff as a result of the consistent currents being fed into him by the ECT machine. Sloan placed each rigid leg on the designated holder, slipping Heero's heels inside the stirrups and thus spreading his legs wide apart. He secured each leg to its holder by tying leather straps around Heero's thighs, knees and ankles.

Heero was aware of none of it. All he knew was the searing pain of electrocution. His jaw was clenched tightly around the mouth-guard, saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth. Spasms tore through his bound limbs and his back was still arched off the chair, as stiff as a board.

Dr. Sloan approached the ECT machine again. He readjusted the dials regulating the electric currents and lowered the voltage. Heero slumped back down against the chair, though his muscles still convulsed feebly under the weaker currents. His pained, bleary and tearful blue eyes followed Sloan's every movement as the man reached for the instruments tray.

"Do you know that most serial killers and rapists claim that the intimidation factor of a knife is far greater than that of a gun?" Sloan asked casually as he picked up a sharp tool. He held it up, showing it to Heero. It was a surgical knife.

"Most rape victims who see a gun scream for help, yet hold a knife to their throat... and they're dead quiet." He turned the knife left and right, allowing it to catch the light from the projector. The blade gleamed coldly.

"You see, knives elicit a more severe emotional reaction than a gun... Perhaps because there's a fear of disfiguration and non-lethal pain that may drag on..." he explained calmly and dipped the tip of the blade into Heero's naked hip.

Heero's eyes widened with horrified realization of what was to come. Images of autopsy reports he had read during the investigation flashed faintly before his wide-open eyes. Images of deep and shallow scars, evidence of painful yet nonlethal cutting, floated dimly in the back of his head and he moaned against the mouth-guard, shaking his head helplessly.

The knife traced an invisible line across his naked body... not hard enough to slice through the skin, just teasing. It stopped when it reached his upper arm. Heero looked up. Sloan was now standing over him, looking down at him with a smug expression.

"I would like to hear your personal take on that," he said, smiling slyly; "but not right now," he added and withdrew the blade; "some other time, perhaps," he promised and turned back to the instruments tray. "I have different plans for you now."

Heero watched him through pain-clouded eyes. He was still being electrocuted, though more mildly. Dr. Sloan set the knife back down on the tray. He reached for something resting in a lower compartment inside the medical supply cart and drew out a rectangular, plain white box. He placed it on the tray and opened the lid. Heero watched nervously, but the lid was hiding the box's content from his limited line of sight.

"Contrary to what you might think," Sloan resumed as he reached into the small box; "Male rape is not about the sex, or even an indication of sexual preference," he spoke informally; "You'll be surprised to know that the majority of men who rape other men self-identify as heterosexuals. Rape is violence. It's about power, domination... control."

He pulled an item out of the box: a long, blunt object. He turned to Heero, smiling creepily.

"I am not like those men at the museum, Heero," he declared; "I'm not a sexual-sadist, nor am I a rapist," he added firmly as he presented Heero with the object he is holding: it was a thick phallus shaped vibrator.

Heero gasped sharply through the mouth-guard. He started thrashing in his restraints, distraught. Sloan chuckled quietly, dismissing his patient's distress with a laugh.

"Don't worry," he assured him, smiling arrogantly; "it might look daunting, but it's not much bigger than an average penis... I'm sure you've handled worse." He smirked. "This is merely a therapeutic instrument," he explained in an eerily easygoing manner; "You're not like the others... Like I said, I am here to help, not torture you, Heero. I'm here to help you face things you've buried and neglected."

The doctor placed the dildo back down and walked towards the ECT machine, turning it off. Heero's body sagged lifelessly into the chair. He released a small sigh of relief as the pain dissipated, but the relief lasted barely a moment. His eyes followed Sloan anxiously as the man approached him again. He pulled out the dribble-dripping mouth-guard from Heero's mouth and Heero gasped loudly, like a drowned man coming up for air.

The older man smiled down at him reassuringly; the kind expression was grotesque. He watched helplessly as Sloan reached for a syringe resting on the instruments tray and filled it with pinkish liquid from a vial. Heero started panting, wheezing in distress. Sloan injected the drug into the IV line and Heero squirmed, moaning weakly in protest as the renewed dosage spread rapidly through his system like wild fire.

"It's okay," Sloan soothed him gently; "This will help."

The Magic Potion began to take affect almost immediately. Numbness and pain flurried simultaneously, drowning out his mind, sizzling in his soul. Heero's pupils dilated despite the harsh light raining from above. His body wilted into the chair and his head slumped limply to the side. He stared ahead dully, dazed, and watched the doctor with a blank, semi-aware expression.

Sloan smiled, pleased, and turned back to the tray. He picked up the vibrator again.

"Surviving perpetrator events, such as rape and cruel torture, will most likely lead to psychological disorders," he explained while reaching for a tube of lubrication gel also resting on the medical supply cart. He flipped the lid open with one finger. Heero watched mutely... apathetic.

"Taking into account that you've been the victim _and_ perpetrator of many violent events, it's only natural that they will take their toll on you, Heero," Sloan continued his lecture as he poured a generous amount of lube on the vibrator. "You see, there's a building block effect no amount of denial can stop," he explained while smearing the gel across the length of the thick dildo; "Traumatic experiences build upon each other... they accumulate over time, increasing the chance of developing PTSD, anxiety and depression – as you have," he glanced at Heero, who gawked back dully.

"You've been avoiding your personal horrors for too long... which caused you to develop what we call a 'fear network', composed of interconnected, trauma-related memories. Even trivial trauma-related stimuli can stir a cascading fear response... you flash back to the past. The flashbacks cause you great stress, which is why you suffer from repeated panic attack episodes."

Heero's eyes watered with tears that spilled uninhibitedly down his hollow, stubbly, cheeks. He lay still, weeping noiselessly.

Sloan turned to him again, leaning forward into his face.

"Do you know what day it is, Heero?" he asked calmly, but didn't wait for an answer. "It's Christmas Eve," he informed his victim haughtily, watching Heero carefully for his reaction. The young man stared back stoically, though his blue eyes clouded with dark pain, gleaming with tortured tears.

"And every Christmas you go through the same thing," Sloan accused; "descending into an underworld of tumultuous and destructive behavior on the anniversary of the end of the war, what happened in DC... and the loss of your daughter," he determined critically; "In the trade we call such behavioral repetition TR – short for Traumatic Reenactment," he explained and straightened back up. He circled the chair, holding the lubricated vibrator as he made his way towards Heero's open legs.

"It's not uncommon with patients suffering from posttraumatic stress," he continued and stopped between Heero's spread legs. He looked up at the young man, smiling conceitedly.

"A part of your psyche simply... _splits off_. It behaves autonomously, reenacting the trauma. It belies structural and functional deficits in the stress-coping mechanisms of your right brain... that's where your anxiety at this time of year stems from, Heero. You can't fight it," he said; "You're unconsciously forcing yourself to relive traumas you've refused to deal with... from early attachment trauma you've experienced in childhood – being ignored by your mother – to vulnerabilities you've felt later on."

He positioned the vibrator at Heero's opening.

The feeling of something slick, hard and cold registered somewhere within the fog clouding his mind. Panicked, Heero resumed squirming in his bonds, letting out small, pathetic whimpers. Sloan ignored him and pushed the artificial phallus slowly into Heero's anus; a careful, unhurried, penetration.

Heero's body stiffened with terror. He was moaning hysterically now, thrashing wildly in his bonds, whimpering helplessly in distress.

"They say that trauma  retires  to  the  past  only  after  being experienced  directly in  the  present," Sloan informed him calmly, still pushing the dildo in one careful inch at a time. His eyes were focused on the penetration with sick fascination.

"While I am not a firm believer in the role playing therapy technique, I do believe that reenacting the moments you've been avoiding might help us make our most significant breakthrough yet," he looked up, smiling warmly at Heero. "Obviously, I can't reproduce every detail of the event... but I can still help you recapture the essence of the original experience. A symbolic processing of traumatic experience should suffice."

He held Heero's pained gaze for a moment, smiling reassuringly.

"We will work through it together," he promised; "I can help you face and embrace your suffering and transform hopelessness into healing... You'll see."

Sloan pulled the dildo back a bit, and then thrust it back in, repeating the motion until a steady rhythm was formed. Heero thrashed crazily on the chair, sobbing loudly, afraid. The cavemen were back. Those loin-clothed brutes... they ganged-up on him, hooting and hollering loudly. Strong, hairy bodies surrounded him, hands grabbing him forcefully from every direction, forcing him down on his hands and knees... rubbing against him in a chaotic, feral dance. They fucked him like animals, shrilling and squealing loudly... tugging his limbs hungrily, grinding him against the dirty earth, fucking him down to the ground. He was yanked and tugged in every direction, tumbled and hauled like a scrap of meat caught between the jaws of a ravenous pack of wild wolves. They ravaged him, picking his bones... leaving nothing behind but a bloody, broken and grotesque mess hardly even recognizable as himself. The horrendous nightmare repeated in an endless cycle, tearing horrified shrieks from Heero's throat. He screamed helplessly, until there was no more voice left in him.

*     *     *

Miles away, Relena lay in her hotel room bed, holding her cellphone in her hand and gazing miserably at a photo of Heero and Elizabeth displayed on the smartphone screen. Her pale and unmade-up face was streaked with tears. She stared dully at the picture, her miserable blue eyes focused on Heero's handsome profile as he leaned before his daughter, looking down at where he was tying her shoes.

And then, without warning, the phone rang. Heero's caller ID appeared on the screen and Relena's breath hitched in her throat. She hesitated, afraid to answer the call. Slowly, she raised the phone up to her ear. She remained lying curled on the bed, and answered it.

"...hello?" she whispered dreadfully.

"Don't speak, just listen," a cold, stern voice commanded; "He wants to speak to you," it said; "Say one word and he's dead."

Her heart pounded fearfully in her chest. She bit her lower lip down, and waited. She knew that the call was now being tracked by Preventer. Her job was to keep it connected for as long as possible so they could get a fix on the right cellular towers.

There was some rattling from the other side of the line. The phone was being moved, handed to Heero no doubt. She could hear quiet, pained wheezing... they were Heero's.

"L-Lena..." he rasped weakly; his voice was hoarse, she could barely hear him. He sounded weak... defeated. "...you... there..?" he asked despairingly and released a heavy, tortured groan; he was in terrible pain. Her heart caved. She had never heard his voice tremble so fearfully before. She wanted to call out his name, soothe him, but she restrained herself, and listened. She sat up slowly, the phone pressed against her ear, and waited.

It was a while before he spoke again. Finally, he let out a low, pained moan. She feared that he was being tortured at that very moment, and tears welled in her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand, holding back a sob and struggling to keep quiet as she was ordered.

"I... he says I... I have to... tell you..." Heero whispered, groaning silently. He gasped for air, struggling to speak. "I... I have to... to tell you... so he'll... so it... so they'll... stop..."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, listening anxiously. Her heart palpitated so fast, so hard, she was certain it would burst out of her chest. _Was this it?_ She wondered. Was Heero going to choose her?

Mournful tears flooded her eyes. Was he going to die?

"Th—there—" he coughed, groaning "—were... three... there were... th-three... of them... at... at the... museum..."

An unbearable pressure was building up in her chest. She didn't want to hear the rest of it... but she had no other choice but to listen.

"They... they... I let them... for her... for Elizabeth..." Heero mumbled, crying; "I... I'm sorry... I... I'm letting them... now... they... they're—" he stopped, gasping sharply, and then let out a small, pathetic sob.

Silence fell. She couldn't breathe. She waited breathlessly, her chest aching, crushed by an excruciating burden.

"They're raping me!" Heero suddenly cried out; "again... and again! And again! Urgh— I'm sorry!" He was panting out the words in a frantic jumble; "I'm sorry Lena! I can't fight back... I have to do it... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm... I'm... I'm sorry you... you have to know... I'm letting them, but she'll die anyway... I'm so sorry... she died... with my gun... in my home... I'm so sorry, Lena... I'm sorry... I... I didn't mean to be this way... I didn't want to be like them..." His words faded into incoherent sniveling. She had never heard such a heartbroken, tortured sound.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I just want them to stop... please... make them stop... the apes—please... I—I— they're hurting me! I can't stop them! I'm sorry! I don't want to do this... I have to... I'm so sorry... Don't hate me... don't leave me... Lena... plea—"

There was more rattling as the phone was moved again. The call was disconnected. Silence fell. Relena continued sitting on the bed, holding the phone against her ear – frozen in shock.

*     *     *


	10. 1PP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Strong winds howled loudly as they gust through the dense urban jungle composing the streets of Lower Manhattan. Standing on the balcony at top of the Preventer building, Duo could feel the soaring skyscraper sway slightly from side to side as he leaned over the hefty stone banister and observed the city spread at his feet. It was a foggy Christmas Eve morning. To the west, the Hudson was completely obscured by thick gloomy mist, though in the near east he could somewhat make out a few murky patches of the East River, along with a vague silhouette of the Brooklyn Bridge.

It had snowed all through the previous night and the surrounding rooftops were covered with a thick layer of white. The constant drizzle showering over the gray streets below since early morning has melted much of the icy piles away, leaving the roads riddled with shallow puddles reflecting the dreary sky. The ever-bustling lanes were packed with traffic; vehicles splashing water as they raced up Broadway. Frantic last-minute Christmas shoppers were rushing up and down crowded sidewalks, hurrying to finish their errands and get home before the holiday. From fifty-two stories above, those people looked like nothing more than busy ants scurrying around. Duo watched them, looking down at those ignorant insects with a pair of hard, detesting, cobalt eyes.

He used to envy those blessed fools. Once, as a filthy orphan living on the harsh streets of L2-V08744, he had wanted nothing more than to be a part of that picture-perfect life. He had spent hours watching from the shadows of deserted alleyways, observing smiling couples lead their well-fed children hand in hand; running errands for the holiday: buying gifts, food and festive clothes... showering their young with materialistic love. He used to dream of the day when he would become a part of that enthralling picture, but years spent on the outside looking in have taught him that those dreams would just get in his way. They were a drug he could not afford; it was far deadlier than anything people were using on the streets, so he had let go of those childish notions and never looked back. He came to accept his place on the outside, stranded in darkness and watching dreams pass him by. With time, those dreams became nothing more than a distant memory feeding his pain, hardening his heart until all he could do was watch those fools with hard, angry eyes, seething internally with the untamable emotions of a betrayed child.

He could never be a part of their world, and that was fine; he didn't want to anymore. After years of failing to fit into their world of ignorance and bliss, he now pitied their mediocre existence. He knew that his role was a different one – an outcast condemned to live his life in desolation. He embraced this indubitable truth with all his being; he couldn't live any other way now. The umbrage had formed into a smoldering fire constantly burning in his veins, seething behind his eyes, keeping him alive. He welcomed whatever allowed him to fire away, unleashing the rage, setting it loose; it kept him strong, fearless. He had nothing to lose and nothing to gain – no risk and therefore no fear.

But now, as he stood watching Lower Manhattan from above, Duo could not shake the rotten feeling that it was all a lie he had kept telling himself in an attempt to justify his lonely existence. If he truly had nothing to gain or lose, then why did he feel so devastated by Joe's loss? Why did he beat himself up over failing Jesse? And why did the very thought that now he might lose Heero forever was more terrifying than any of the above?

He felt as though every God damn thing he had ever lost, gained or wished for was at stake of being taken away for good. The ultimate loss was still ahead and he was terrified of it; he would do anything to stop it and therefore he had rushed down here without thinking twice. He was at risk of becoming that deluded little orphan again: watching from the shadows, hoping love would finally find him and save him from a despairing Hell, but he could not help himself. Heero was, and always has been, his last hope. Heero was the one hope he had allowed his heart to keep, hence the very survival of his soul depended on whether Heero lived or died at the hands of the Redeemer. Failing Heero again meant failing himself; it meant that there will be no salvation for his lonely heart. He will be doomed to spend his life as that filthy kid watching others from the shadows, looking longingly at something he could never gain, because Heero would be gone, dead... just another dream that had passed him by.

That morning had marked the fourth day since Heero was taken; two more days until the psychopath's deadline. Hope of finding him before it was too late was beginning to fade, eroded by despairing hours spent in idle waiting and not much progress in the investigation. Duo had paced the CID conference room like a caged lion for about half an hour before he got fed up with being cooped and stomped out of there in search for a quiet place to fume with rage and smoke through a whole pack of cigarettes.

He came back to the CID at around lunchtime, looking for Shaw. He wanted to know if there was any news, even though she would have told him about it, but asking was something to do, so he asked. He found the redheaded agent at her desk, working. She had nothing to give him. Sighing, he nodded in thanks and walked away, pacing dejectedly down the long aisle cutting between numerous office cubicles. He stopped when he passed by an empty workspace, the only unoccupied desk on the floor. Its blatant emptiness screamed silently, drawing Duo to it. It was Heero's desk; he knew it. He pulled the wheeled office chair back and settled into it slowly. He spun around to face the desk, grabbed its edges and pulled himself closer.

The desk was neat and spotless. The computer monitor was turned off. He stared at it for a moment, his vision blurring as he gawked at the black screen. Looking at it filled his heart with a heavy sense of desolation. He turned to scan the desk instead and noted a three-compartment letter tray on the other side of the well-ordered table, stacked tidily with papers. He leafed through them out of boredom, maybe curiosity. Most of the paperwork was of little interest, but he did find a copy of the latest issue of Time Magazine with a picture of Relena on the cover. Frustrated, he shoved it back into the tray, messing the orderly pile of papers.

Rummaging through Heero's drawers he found a few restaurant delivery menus. One menu, a Chinese take-out, had a buy 9 get 1 free punch-card at the bottom and it was all punched out. Thinking that Heero must really like that restaurant, Duo ordered himself some lunch. He went by the conference room to see how Relena was doing and after a particularly discouraging conversation he left the senator to wait while staring out the window, brooding. With nothing to useful do, he went back to the balcony on the roof and continued gazing at the city, feeling helpless, discouraged and growing more irate by the minute.

Unlike Relena, he was not satisfied with merely staying put and waiting for the Redeemer's next call. There was too much turmoil running rampant inside of him; he couldn't sit tight. Knowing that Heero has been out there for over four days – subjected to torture and God knows what else – was simply unbearable, intolerable... inexcusable! He was furious with Preventer for their incompetence, with Heero for volunteering for such an obviously _stupid_ mission as part of his lifelong passive-aggressive attempts to end his own life, and with himself for failing Heero by doing nothing since he had arrived at New York City.

If Heero perished, then Duo's last chance for happiness will die with him. There will be no more point to living if he no longer had that dream, that option... the possibility of patching things up with Heero. It might be an egocentric and self-indulgent epiphany, but Duo could deny it no more: Heero had to live, or they would both die.

But as things currently stood, there was little he could do to save Heero and anxiety was taking over. Gazing down at the city for hours, smoking one cigarette after the other, did little to help or to calm him down. He hated waiting, being useless. The helpless inertness was driving him _mad_ , sending his mind spiraling into a dangerous cycle of painful revelations. He was never one to simply stand around pondering the truth of the universe, nor was he a patient man. He would always dive in head-first into the fight, shooting first and asking questions never. His motto: _'If you haffta shoot – shoot, don't think, don't talk'_ ; an ironic trait considering he was often accused of being a senseless blabbermouth, but he did know when to keep his mouth shut and let the rage take over, forming into an eerie, quiet kind of calm solidifying his center... focusing him on what he had to do so that everything else melted away into the background, reduced to nothing but a single, clear, target. Heero had once said that this was why he trusted him with his life, because he knew that when push came to shove he will come through for _the mission_... or maybe he meant that he knew that he'd come through for him, if needed.

Duo scoffed. He took another drag on his cigarette and rolled his eyes.

Heero would never say it directly, of course. Chances were that he never even meant to hint at it either; he always left the interpretation to others and kept his thoughts to himself. It didn't matter what Heero thought of them anyway, because when shit hit the fan between the two of them, they both blew it. He never came through for Heero, because with no real battles to fight – when it was all finally over back then in Brussels – he had lost his focus. He allowed the burning rage to entice him into talking rather than listening. Dr. Gavin, his unwarranted shrink back on L2, had once called it _"abandonment rage"_. She gathered that his _"Outer Child"_ [[i]] – the self-sabotaging nemesis of his utterly borderline personality, or so she claimed – was spurred by this rage and he became extremely destructive. While Duo detested her sickly psycho-babble, he had to admit that there was some truth to it. There was certainly a part of him that tended to act out without giving him, the adult, a chance to intervene.

And indeed, when he realized that Heero will never choose him, his hopes and dreams were shattered and that traitorous child lashed out with a vengeance, dashing out of that dark alleyway with weapons drawn and a dark lust for blood in his eyes. He felt devastated, bewildered, mortally wounded... and he had succumbed to despair and panic. He attacked Heero when he should have just kept his damn mouth shut and _listened_ , even if Heero had nothing to say, even if he couldn't express himself verbally. He should have at least given Heero the chance, but he was all over the place. Overtaken with grief and still hyped from the fight, all he could be was that betrayed child. He was too distraught to do the right thing, be the God damned _bigger person_.

Fuck that – he was _sick_ of being the bigger person! Sick of being the only one who gave a fuck while Heero bounced freely from one partner to the other! He was sick and tired of guessing, reading between the lines, interpreting every minuscule expression on that handsome stoic face, desperately trying to put the sex into some kind of meaningful context and figure out what were Heero's intentions towards him, what went on in that heavily fortified head of his. He tried coaxing some answers out of Heero, but in vain. Heero didn't come to him to talk; he came to fuck, to vent and ravage. Their relationship was all about flesh, about heart and passion, but never about soul.

He could clearly remembered every single time they had fucked. While it often felt like they've been together a thousand times, in actuality those moments had been scarce, so it wasn't hard to keep track.

The first time was at the St. Gabriel's Boarding School, after they took down the Alliance's naval base. They were both drunk with too much power and whiskey; two destructive teenage boys with raging hormones and not much experience in anything but violence. At fifteen, he probably shouldn't have consumed as much alcohol as he did that night, but after losing that _stupid_ competition at that damn base, he decided that he'd be damned if he lost another dare, especially a drinking match. And what did it get him? He had been fucked by Heero twice over – first at the base, then in his own bed.

He _never_ saw that coming; and most likely neither did Heero, because when Duo woke up the next morning between tangled sheets reeking of sweat, whiskey and semen – a splitting headache pulsing between his temples, his hips bruised and his poor anus sore beyond belief – the Wing pilot was nowhere to be found, and all Duo could remember was that he probably made a _big_ _fucking mistake_ they will both regret.

But as time went by Heero had turned out to be his favorite mistake; one he had kept repeating in a masochistic game of cat and mouse.

Their second time was also a surprise, because he never took Heero for the type to make the same mistake twice. They were traveling across Europe, heading west to east and executing small guerilla-warfare attacks on enemy strongholds while living undercover in one boarding school after the other for about two months. An order came to attack two large OZ weapon's conveys heading down the Siberian Plain – one a decoy, a trap, the other real... and the militia intelligence had no idea which was which. It was up to them to find out upon arrival, meaning one of them will be heading into a trap, alone. Such predicament would make anyone tense, even Heero.

In retrospect, perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised when he heard the bathroom door open while he was showering. The sound was followed by a quiet clicking noise as the door was shut again and locked, from the inside. He stilled under the hot shower stream, his drenched long hair plastered over his naked body, and listened with bated breath: nothing; not a peep from his intruder.

He pushed the shower curtain aside, just a tad, and dared a peek. Dense white steam engulfed the small bathroom. Heero was leaning against the closed door, his hands tucked behind his back and his head bowed down low. He was staring numbly at the small rug on the floor. He almost looked timid, almost, because his expression was as tense and stony as ever; only the doubtful shine in his deep blue eyes gave away his troubled thoughts.

The young teenage pilot was wearing tailored black pants and white dress shirt that were a part of their school uniform, along with a black tie – the same attire he had been wearing a few minutes ago when he had paid a short visit his dorm room and found Heero sitting in the dark, working on his computer, reading over mission specs; the same mission he had been sent a few moments earlier. He warned Heero that they should come up with a plan for this one or they're toast, but Heero didn't say anything in return, as usual. Duo didn't know if Heero's silence meant his agreement, or if he was simply being ignored, so he had left and headed back to his room to take a shower, leaving the other boy to contemplate their fate in peace.

Standing inside the shower stall, warm water still running over him, Duo studied Heero's profile carefully, trying to determine what he was doing there, in his private bathroom... while he showered.

Heero's head was hunched down, his messy bangs obscuring his eyes; his expression was unreadable. The unruly mane was catching moisture from the steam and a few damp locks were sticking to Heero's forehead. Duo's fingers itched to wipe them away, but he didn't dare making a move and waited, watching.

Heero just stood there, sunken deep in thought, debating something grave, it seemed. Duo could easily detect the second Heero finally reached a decision. The change was rapid and total: Heero pushed decisively off the door and reached one hand up to loosen his tie. His head was still bowed and his gaze still on the floor, but his eyes weren't as pensive as a moment ago. On the contrary, he looked just as calculative and intensive as he did on the battlefield. He raised a second arm and began unbuttoning his shirt. Duo watched, dazed, while Heero shed his clothes off one by one, letting them fall to the floor. Finally nude, he turned to the shower stall, and raised his gaze up to look at Duo. His arousal was hard to miss.

Duo will never forget that raw and uninhibited look burning fiercely in Heero's Prussian blue eyes: humility, shame, hesitance, lust, dare and iron-hard determination all wrapped into one intense blue gaze pointed at him like the barrel of a gun. That moment, Heero seemed so hard – tough, confident, unbreakable – and yet... cracked, mellowed somehow. The impossible ambivalence was overwhelming.

Holding Duo's gaze with his, Heero stepped forward, pushing the shower curtain aside. Duo stepped back, bumping into the cold tile wall, already panting heavily. There was danger in the air. A disturbing kind of darkness gleamed ominously in Heero's deep blue eyes, but Duo was not intimidated; he only wanted Heero more for it. There was a promise lurking in that alluring darkness, implicit whispers pledging him pleasure and pain, heartache and elevation, if only he dared taking what he was being offered.

The Wing pilot joined him inside the small stall and closed the curtain behind him swiftly. The sex was hot, slick and desperate... far more memorable than that drunken first time. Even after that first time at St. Gabriel, Duo wasn't exactly sure about his sexual orientation, but that second time left no more room for doubt. Heero had won him over; he was _hooked_.

It started raining and thunder rumbled over Manhattan. Duo sighed and pushed off the stone banister, still holding a cigarette up to his lips. He turned around, leaning his back on the cold stone barrier, and took a long puff. He released the smoke into the air and gazed up, watching it dissipating and mingling with the cloudy gray skies above. He closed his eyes slowly, allowing the light drizzle to tingle his unshaved face. Light stubble covered his cheeks and chin, bestowing him with a rugged look he was growing quite fond of lately. Cold raindrops prickled his closed eyelids and a tragic smile tugged at his lips. Memories flickered dimly behind his closed eyelids; wistful visions of time past, but never forgotten.

It was a long while before their third time, he recalled sadly. The attack on the Siberian convoys didn't go as smoothly as planned. Heero was the one who stepped straight into a trap – knowingly, Duo suspected – and he had nearly paid for it with his life. By some miracle, Heero survived, but not for a lack of effort to the contrary.

Duo let go of the finished cigarette butt and let it fall to the floor. He stomped on it with his black boot, grimacing solemnly.

Thinking back, he knew that the only reason Heero had stepped into his shower room that night was because the young Wing pilot felt that he was already a dead man. He probably wanted another small taste of life before he headed willingly to his death, and that was understandable, even flattering in a way. Although he suspected that Heero simply turned to him out of practical convenience, what boggled Duo still was why Heero chose to persist with his strange sex-in-the-shower rituals afterwards.

A cold breeze swept by the large concrete balcony. The drizzle turned into a soft shower of snowflakes falling gracefully from above. They piled on Duo's black leather jacket, some caught in his long braid. Another flake descended on his nose, tickling him. Duo reached a hand to wipe it away, sniffling loudly. He pulled out his cigarette box and Heero's blue lighter from his pocket. He stared forlornly at the plain lighter, sighed, and then lit up another smoke. He turned back around to face the view of the city and leaned over the massive stone railing with two elbows, the burning cigarette in his hand. He stared numbly ahead at the foggy horizon where the Manhattan Island kissed the Upper Bay, his mind wandering back into the past.

Their third time was perhaps the most memorable, because it was the first and only time Duo felt that maybe there could be something more behind the physical contact, more than just desperate, ruthless, sex. It was the only time he could remember Heero being somewhat... soft. It was just after the Wing pilot had rescued him from OZ imprisonment on C-102. The rescue in itself had been a welcomed surprise. First of all, he had no idea that Heero was still alive; he was certain that the 01 pilot had perished in Siberia. Secondly, he never expected to be rescued before his public execution, and certainly not by the do-everything-by-the-book, never-refuse-an-order, kill-you-if-you-dare-making-a-single-mistake Heero Yuy!

Heero had done the impossible for him, going against everything they've been taught in the militia and disobeying orders to silence him before he could do more damage to their cause. The rules were simple: if there was even a remote chance of treason – done willingly or otherwise – the source of the threat should be terminated. No trial, no jury – just a quick and merciless execution, no questions asked. The colony rebel forces were small, constantly dwindling and losing support as the violent incursion brought on severe reaction from the Occupation forces, but treason was intolerable, even if such executions reduced their already depleted forces.

Yet instead of killing him for his shortcomings, Heero got him out of that OZ Hellhole. Duo never thought he'd find himself playing the role of the damsel in distress, but for once in his life he could just lie back and let someone else take care of him, fight for him... save him. Heero was the first person to make him feel that way. That was probably when he had fallen in love with the frustratingly aloof pilot. He couldn't help it; there was no resisting such powerful allure, because somewhere deep down he had always wanted to let go, allow someone else to take charge, to take care of him, maybe even care _for_ him...

He would have liked to claim that the third time counted as making love, but it hadn't, it couldn't possibly. Heero never allowed them to connect so intimately, but still... there was something different about the third time. It wasn't as hard, wasn't as rough. It was just as desperate as the previous times and yet... kinder, somehow; tender. More than lust, it was relief that guided them as they moved together in the small confines of his hospital shower room; relief they had felt for being alive, together, at least for a short while.

Soon after Heero took off to the Moon Base for another mission, leaving him behind to worry and recover, and that precious sexual encounter became just another distant memory feeding wishful thoughts of what could have or should have been. Duo tried to avoid thinking about it as much as possible, or else he'd find himself dreaming again when he had already decided to silence those dreams and let them go. He even tried swinging it the other way, hanging out with a girl – Hilde – for a few months, trying to see if it would work. It didn't. Unlike Heero, he was set on guys and guys only.

The fourth, fifth and sixth times were a series of passionate and brutal quickies preformed secretly and quietly in the dead of the night at the spaceship Peacemillion's empty locker rooms. It was towards the end of the Eve War, when all five pilots were gathered aboard the massive ship before the final battle. Heero didn't want to be caught with his pants down in either of their quarters, so they snuck into the showers when no one was supposed to be around. At least there, or so Duo figured, they'll have an excuse for being caught naked...

Only the seventh time was actually memorable, because it was the first time Duo bothered talking afterwards; the first time he had dared questioning Heero's motives. The young Wing-ZERO pilot was rising back to his feet after going down on him in the shower and Duo was still leaning against the wet wall, panting and staring unseeingly ahead, riding out the aftermath of an intense orgasm. Heero didn't just fuck him for his own pleasure. He had the inimitable ability to wring both pain and pleasure out of him like nothing or no one else ever could. Coming without him was like not coming at all... nothing else compared.

The young pilot was about to leave the small shower stall when Duo flung a hand forward and grabbed him by his wrist, stopping him. Heero turned around slowly, glowering darkly, but Duo was never fazed by that intense blue glare. He looked Heero straight in the eye and asked:

"How come you want me so much?"

Still gripping Heero's wrist tightly, Duo felt the other teenage boy tense, startled by the blunt question. He pulled back, quickly yanking his hand from Duo's grasp as though scorched by fire. He turned to leave again.

"I mean it," Duo insisted and took a step forward, glaring determinedly at Heero's nude back; "why me?"

Heero bowed his head down. He stood there for a second, staring at his bare feet.

"Why not you..?" he mumbled quietly.

"That's no answer," Duo protested harshly; "We've been fucking all through this damn war... It isn't much, but I... I still wanna know why. You like _her_ , so why fuck me? Why pin _me_ against the shower wall when it's _her_ you want?"

Heero whirled back around to face him; an angry scowl set on his hard face. "I don't force myself on you," he growled, insulted.

"I didn't say you did," Duo sighed, shaking his head in frustration; "I like this, but I... I wanna know... I dunno. I just wanna know where this is headed, I guess."

Heero scoffed dismissively and pulled away, leaving the shower stall. "Same place we're all headed," he grunted and grabbed his towel from one of the empty benches. He wrapped it around his waist as he headed for the exit, barefoot and dripping wet. Duo remained standing inside the shower stall and watched him leave. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back against the tile wall and closed his eyes sadly, muttering a frustrated: " _Fuck_."

He had scared Heero off with his stupid, useless, questions.

Gazing ahead at the forest of high-rises spread before him, Duo regretfully recalled that they never saw their eighth time through, because he had been determined to talk again. The conversation had been a final nail in the coffin that was their failed relationship.

He had joined Heero in the empty shower rooms between battles, ready to confront him again. Heero tried to silence him with a ferocious kiss, clearly driven by his suppressed anxiety, but Heero's fierce belligerence has never daunted him; Duo stopped him and insisted on getting some answers. So Heero had bolted, again, leaving him with the fatalistic declaration that they didn't have a future. The next morning, he found out that Heero had taken off to the space station Libra on his own, to rescue Relena from White Fang. After that, there was no need to ask any more questions; Duo had gotten his answer loud and clear: Heero saw his future with Relena, not with him.

And yet, when it was all over, he still allowed Heero the ninth, tenth, eleventh and so forth times... a whole year of occasional booty calls whenever Heero fancied him enough to show up at his doorstep without warning. Being just a stupid teenage kid, Duo took whatever he could get, believing that Heero seeking him out time and time again actually _meant_ something, despite of the obvious truth always staring him in the face when Heero disappeared again, heading back into _her_ arms. For a long while he had kept telling himself that he was fine with the whole _'friends with benefits'_ routine, until he realized that he's been deluding himself about the _'friends_ ' part too, because Heero has never said nor did anything that supported such a wild assumption. They didn't share much beyond the sex, unless burning the midnight oil hunched over battle plans or Gundam maintenance counted as hanging out like friends – and it didn't. It was strictly business.

Although, if he thought back hard enough, Duo could still come up with a few fond memories, mostly during the times they had shared undercover in various boarding schools. There wasn't much time for a genuine school-life – it was just an act – but he did get to spend some time with Heero doing ordinary things, like going to class (Heero always let him copy his homework because he was too damn lazy to devote the time to keep up appearances), playing sports (they played one-on-one basketball to pass the time between classes while a crowd of horny teenage girls cheered at the sight of their vigorous match) or having an honest to God meal for a change in the school's dining hall (Heero always criticized his choice of foods and he would tell him to stuff it, enjoying the playful banter). They couldn't afford to get close to anyone, so they pretended to be friends. That was the closest things they got to friendship when frankly, they were comrades and fuck buddies at best. At some point Duo grew tired of rising to the occasion whenever Heero felt that he needed to exorcise his demons on an accommodating partner, because _she_ obviously couldn't take it. The fucking-in-the-shower routine got really old, really fast.

Their last time was just before the Marimeia Uprising broke out back in Christmas AC 196. He had reluctantly sought Heero out at Quatre's request, asking the ex-Wing-ZERO pilot for his Gundam so they could dispose of it along with the rest so they would never fall into the wrong hands again. It was hard letting go of the Gundams. Sending them away had left an aching hole in their souls, which they tried to make up for with senseless sex... just before news of Relena's abduction reached Heero and he took off with more important things in mind.

So that brought it up to twenty: the total number of times they've had sex before Duo decided that he has had enough being second place. Twenty times he had tried to connect with Heero and twenty times he had failed to reach beyond physical desire. Accepting defeat, he had stepped aside, allowing Heero to be with the one he truly wanted.

Only it turned out that what Heero thought he wanted wasn't exactly what he needed... or so Relena now claimed. Despite what Duo always told himself, the _princess_ seemed to have a better understanding of Heero than he ever had, perhaps even more than Heero understood himself. It seemed that she wasn't as naïve as he had mistaken her to be. Relena saw right through Heero. It might have taken her a while to come to terms with what she saw, but now she was convinced that _he_ was the one right for Heero, not her. Duo wanted so much to believe that, but he was afraid; afraid of dreaming again, afraid of getting his hopes up and suffering disappointment again. He didn't want to go back to being that hungry child watching hopefully from the alleyway, never again. So where did that leave him?

It left him hanging in the line between fear and blame; afraid to dream yet chasing the dream anyway. He had followed the Redeemer's breadcrumbs trail knowing that it would lead him to Heero. He played right into the man's game... He could never turn away after seeing that awful video that son-of-a-bitch had sent him and the bastard knew it. Much like Heero, he had allowed himself to fall as a willing victim to the psychopath's scheme; allowing the Unsub to encroach upon his most private pain and systematically melt down layers upon layers of anger and bitterness, leaving him no choice but to face the dream again. He was a part of some vague ploy, its purpose yet unknown, but he knew that he was already in too deep.

The Redeemer has left Heero's fate in his hands. By forcing him to guess whether Heero would choose Relena or him, he had left the decision of whether Heero died brutally or peacefully up to him. It may seem like a lose-lose situation to most, but as people who've lived their whole lives ready for death, the choice of _how_ they'd die was just as grave as the choice between life and death was critical to others. Accepting death was one thing, but knowing that you'd suffer greatly before you achieved that relief was another thing entirely. No one, not even suicidal individuals like Heero, would willingly choose to die a gruesome death. A quick and painless death was the preferred way to go. One would have to be completely mad to choose the other, and Heero wasn't there yet... he hoped.

Either way, the odds of guessing correctly were against him. Duo had a feeling that Heero was going to choose Relena, as he had done so many times before. History was bound to repeat itself. People don't change; rather they make the same mistakes over and over again... which was why he had named himself as Heero's choice when he should have named Relena. Foolish as it was, he was still hoping Heero would choose him in the end, but that wasn't going to happen, was it? It was that damn _child_ talking, selfishly proclaiming himself as Heero's choice of a future, and now Heero was going to die a terrible death for it.

It was just like Heero had once said – they had no future together. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy; one Duo has always been helpless to stop. Heero was determined to stay away. What could possibly be different about this time? The choice was entirely up to Heero. All he could do was keep waiting in dreadful anticipation.

"There you are," a female voice called softly and Duo looked up, frowning. He turned away from the view of the city and faced the balcony again. Agent Shaw has just exited the building and was heading his way.

"I was looking all over for you," she said as she approached.

"Couldn't stand being in that room another minute," Duo grunted and took a drag on his smoke. "It's fucking useless."

Shaw nodded gravely. "Yeah, I know," she agreed; "That's why I figured you might be interested in joining me for the BAU briefing."

Duo raised a skeptic eyebrow. "Them _geniuses_ finally got a new profile ready?"

"Yes," the redheaded agent confirmed with a curt nod; "They're going to be giving it down at One-P-P in half an hour. Care to join me?"

"You guys are handing the investigation back to the _cops_?" he marveled and threw his burning cigarette to the concrete floor.

The agent sighed, shrugging helplessly. "Baker thinks it's the right thing to do, all things considered," she clarified; "We can't afford to keep this internal anymore." She looked up at Duo, meeting his hard eyes with a hopeful, somewhat apologetic, look in her bright green eyes.

"Bet they could use another detective on the case," she offered; "if you're interested."

Duo scoffed. "Right," he grunted suspiciously; "You're just offering so I won't get in their way flying solo... but I'll take it," he concluded with a weary sigh and stomped over the burning butt with his boot. He turned back to Shaw, his expression harsh, prepped for battle. "Let's go."

*     *     *

The unit handling the Redeemer case within the NYPD was known as the Major Case Squad. The unit – along with her parallel: the Special Victims Unit – was a part of the Special Investigation Division of NYPD's Detective Bureau and specialized in kidnapping cases, among other things. It operated from NYPD Headquarters at One Police Plaza in Downtown Manhattan. Despite its bulkiness, the fortress-like reddish-brown building was quite impressive. It certainly put L2PD-744's building to shame. Duo actually halted for a moment, looking up at the massive structure with awe, before following agent Shaw inside. He marched determinedly into the lobby, his stride confident and brisk as though he had walked 1PP's halls for years. Dressed in his rugged pair of blue jeans and black leather jacket, a hard glowering expression set on his face, one could have easily mistaken him for just another hardhearted NYPD detective.

Deputy Chief Fulgencio Lopez, the man in charge of the MCS unit, certainly did. He paused for a moment as he reached to shake agent Shaw's hand and glanced at Duo, frowning in puzzlement as though trying to place a name to a face. The man, a harsh-looking middle-aged officer who looked like he had seen his fair share of horror on NYC's streets, turned to Shaw and completed the handshake.

"Agent Shaw," he greeted; "welcome back."

The young redheaded agent shook the man's meaty hand firmly, nodding in acknowledgement. "It's good to see you again, Phil," she said politely; "I just wish it wasn't always under such grim circumstances."

"My invitation to our annual Christmas Ball still stands, if you like," the man reminded her with a warm smile.

"I'm afraid I'm not in much of a party mood," she muttered, casting her gaze down briefly.

The man nodded in understanding. He turned to Duo next, a wary question in his dark brown eyes.

"This is detective Maxwell – L2PD," Shaw hurried to introduce; "He's an old friend of Heero's," she explained; "he wants in if that's okay."

Lopez reached for a handshake and Duo shook the man's hand briskly.

"L2, huh?" the man grunted, examining Duo carefully.

The young man nodded curtly. "Born and raised."

"Which prefect?"

"744," Duo replied solemnly and Lopez grimaced.

"Damn, kid, that's some tough shit," he muttered sympathetically; "I worked East Harlem for twenty-two years before they put me behind a desk... bet I didn't see half of what you've seen up there."

Duo looked at him intensely. "Probably not," he agreed.

"Well, I guess another pair of ears in the room wouldn't hurt," the Deputy Chief determined, thus approving Duo's presence at the briefing. He escorted the two into the conference room further down the hall.

The room was packed with cops and detectives seated in rows of chairs facing a podium and presentation screen. Duo stood in the back, leaning discreetly against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his hard cobalt blue eyes fixed intently on the three men standing at the front of the room: Deputy Chief Lopez, an older man Duo recognized from that press conference he'd seen on TV back at the L2PD station – the one Heero had approached during the broadcast to hand him a phone. He gathered that it must be Shaw's and Heero's superior: A-SAC Baker. The third was most likely the BAU agent – a man in his mid-thirties dressed in a black suit rather than Preventer uniform.

Baker was the first to speak. "I'm sure you're all wondering why we're back here, so I'll make this brief and we'll get on with business," he said; "I know there were some rumors running around this place that our agents were tagging NYPD for a while and tension was starting to affect this investigation. So let me make one thing clear – we do _not_ suspect the involvement of anyone in the NYPD. On the contrary, we now have probable reason to suspect that we are dealing with one of our own, which Agent Malone here will explain in more detail shortly," he gestured with his head at the man in the suit.

"NYPD will be taking back the lead on the Redeemer case," Baker continued; "with our support," he clarified; "Agent Shaw will continue acting as liaison and the BAU will continue offering its support as needed. We're all after the same thing here, so let's do this right and get our missing agent back before the holiday is over. Thank you."

The profiler, Malone, stepped in next. He greeted the crowd with a curt nod of his head and got straight down to business. Some cops took notes while he spoke. Duo just listened carefully, a dark scowl on his face, as the man detailed the BAU's newversion of the profile. He didn't trust shrinks and their methods, profilers included, and the fact that those damn _brainiacs_ had already formed _three_ profiles and still had nothing to show for it only supported his aversion of their questionable techniques. Psychoanalyzing the crap out of a case didn't put any villains behind bars. Putting yourself out there, getting your hands dirty and kicking some serious ass usually did... at least where he came from. Undercover work and the right connections – _real_ detective work – was what got things done. They managed just fine on L2 without those fancy _psychoanalysts_ telling them who they should bust. Crime rates were high, but so was the number of criminals they took off the streets.

"We've made some changes to the profile since we last presented it here," Agent Malone addressed the attentive crowd and Duo looked up, focused on the man's every word despite his wariness; anything to get Heero back.

"Recent developments have brought us to make some significant changes in the Unsub's profile. Now, taking into account that all the other victims lacked defensive wounds, we've already suggested that they had willingly put themselves in danger, so someone of authority or otherwise easily trusted has lured them into a trap. That is why, despite precautions taken, the Unsub was able to get his hands on agent Yuy. This supports the theory that we're dealing with an insider... someone Yuy knew well."

Duo spotted Agent Shaw's red head in the crowd. She was shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"This guy obviously knows a lot of personal information about Yuy," Malone continued; "so it's safe to say that he's intimately familiar with him. This Unsub is obsessed," he warned; "We suspect that this obsession could be what triggered his killing spree rather than the desire to avenge the victims of the DC Incident. He hasn't fixated on Heero because of the DC deaths, but the other way around. His target was agent Yuy from the very beginning. By killing seven other people, he has cast a net to capture the object of his obsession. He is willing to go to great lengths in order to fulfill his desires, which makes him extremely dangerous."

There was some murmuring in the room and Lopez gestured at everyone to keep quiet. Malone resumed his speech:

"An Unsub this obsessed with a particular victim is usually trying to act out a fantasy, most of the time it is a sexually motivated fantasy, but we know from past victims that his torture lacks a sexual component, which is incredibly rare. That's why we believe it's not necessarily about exerting power, but more like overcompensating for a lack of it. This guy craves control. That is why he also enjoys extending the pain to people close to the victim.

"A man this obsessed with control most likely feels powerless in his everyday life, so he would require stability, security. He will keep up appearances, keep going to work for instance, which is why the phone calls come before and after office hours. It's hard for him to change his routine... that could work in our favor. He will stick to his previous MO as much as possible, meaning that he will use the same location he used before. It's a place he is comfortable in, probably someplace he had visited frequently before, maybe a former work place or place of residence." He paused, giving his audience a moment to absorb his words, before continuing:

"The reason that the Unsub has gotten away with all seven murders is that he's been meticulous at every stage, from how he chooses his victims to the torture and the dump site. He's coming from a place of weakness, trying to demonstrate strength. This could very well be the reason why he has fixated on agent Yuy. Having intimate knowledge of Heero's history, the Unsub sees him as a challenge... an opportunity to overpower a most resilient persona. He thrives on the challenge of emasculating his victims... and he sees overpowering Heero as the ultimate display of power.

"Now we see this a lot in Unsubs who've have been abused. And given the obsession to control his victim with torture, we can say that with almost certainty that the Unsub has experienced abuse in his past. We suggest unsealing juvenile records and searching for agents who fit the profile and also have a history of child abuse.

"In short, we are looking for a male agent somewhere in his mid-forties to mid-fifties, a familiar face no one gives a second thought when passing down the hall... someone methodical, intelligent... with a possible background in surveillance or computer programming. This could be someone from the Cyber division, where Heero has worked for the past year. Maybe someone he had worked a case with... someone who he might have gotten close to at some point. This will be someone who's unhappily married to a dominant woman, someone accustomed to being dismissed and ignored, so he's fed up. He would also have a history of child abuse. He is someone people trust easily, someone you wouldn't even consider for this profile. But please bear in mind that he will be ready for this. Someone this methodical has every moment planned. If he is captured, he'd most likely take his own life rather than give up any sort of control. He will die before he gives us agent Yuy's location. He's calculating, and he's intelligent, and he's been ahead of us through every step of the way. To capture him, we're going to have to do something that he's not expecting... otherwise, he'll slip right between our fingers."

A-SAC Baker stepped forward again. "I am giving you full access to our FO," he declared; "Agent Shaw will coordinate anything you need – full transparency. Needless to say, your discretion is imperative."

"If the Unsub is lurking in plain sight," Malone interjected; "he will obviously know you're there. If he fears we're getting closer, he might slip, which frankly we're hoping he would. The trick is to catch him before he drops off radar."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" one detective asked gruffly.

Agent Malone turned to him with stern eyes. "We beat him in his own game... by taking out one of the pieces," he elaborated, fixing his gaze on the young braided man standing rigidly at the end of the room.

All eyes were suddenly turned towards Duo. The young L2PD detective glared back at Malone, keeping his arms crossed tensely over his chest, jaw clenched angrily.

*     *     *

It was late afternoon by the time they left 1PP. Shaw wanted him to go back to the hotel, to keep waiting there until she'll have some news. He had nodded numbly in agreement and turned to leave, but not before he asked her to check into the Zechs Marquise angle again. It was a long shot, but given the new profile he thought that maybe it could be a possibility, even if it was just grasping at straws. The man certainly knew Heero well enough, he was an ex-Preventer and he knew about the DC Incident. While he didn't believe Zechs would be capable of kidnapping and torturing seven innocent people just to extract vengeance on a former-foe, he had nothing else to go on and neither did Shaw, so he insisted that the agent look into it while he obliged her request to step out of the playfield. In the very least, ruling out another suspect would bring them one step closer to the actual Unsub, because – as the saying went – "once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matterhow improbable, must be the truth". He had read that once somewhere [[ii]].

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Words, sights and events passed him by without registering. He had left 1PP in a daze and never made it back to the hotel. He had lost his way, wandering off course, and ended up roaming the streets aimlessly until nightfall. He had no recollection of how he had spent the hours after the BAU briefing; no idea where he had been or what he had done. It didn't matter, because he was out of the game, sent to sit at the sidelines and wait for the final score.

That was _"The Plan"_ – and it sucked. The rationale was explained to him personally after the briefing. The BAU wanted to level the playing field and break the stalemate situation they were currently facing. He was not allowed to participate in the Redeemer's game anymore: he must refrain from taking anymore phone calls, if ever they should come. Only Relena was allowed to answer now... God damn her.

The move was deliberate. Malone explained that the Redeemer had gone through much trouble to lure him back to Heero's life. He had worked hard to bring Duo into the playfield; he had put more effort into him than he had in Relena. Therefore, the Redeemer would take it much harder if he could no longer control him as a pawn. They wanted to undermine the Unsub's compulsory need for control, to get under his skin and force him to make a mistake in his desperation to regain the upper hand. It was a long shot, but it was all they had until the MSC came up with a viable suspect.

As evening fell it started snowing again. It was Christmas Eve and the streets were empty, except for a few Chinese restaurants here and there that remained open for business. People had long retired into their homes to spend the holiday with their loving families and friends. He must have been drifting in circles, leaving a trail of cigarette butts in his wake, because at around midnight his directionless wanderings had lead him to the footsteps of the Saint Peter Roman Catholic Church, less than a mile away from One Police Plaza and still in walking distance from the Holiday Inn where he was supposed to have ended up.

St. Peter's was one of the more ancient churches in Manhattan, the first Roman Catholic Parish in New York. It was a well-known landmark and therefore he vaguely recognized the massive temple-like structure. The Greek architecture of smooth masonry walls and church porticos lend an air of great dignity to the building. Large stained-glass windows, brilliant with vibrant colors, shone warmly in the night, beckoning him. He stood before the enormous house of worship, his heart heavy with apprehension, reverence and undeniable yearning. His feet carried him inside without conscious thought.

The interior was even more impressive than the outside. A grand luminous atmosphere of gold and white engulfed him as he walked down the aisle. The church was packed with worshipers who were there to greet Christmas Day with a Midnight Mass. The large hall was filled with the vibrating whirr of people murmuring in chorus until the service began. An imposing and powerful painting of The Crucifixion hung over the main altar. A priest was standing there, dressed festively in gold and white and facing his parish as he prepared to deliver his sermon. Duo took a seat on one of the polished dark-wood pews at the far back and fixed his eyes on the altar. He noted the screen behind the minister displaying the words:

 

**Imagine God speaks to you tonight.**

**What are you afraid He might ask you to do?**

 

The priest cleared his throat and an attentive heavy silence fell over the large hall. Every head in the audience turned in the direction of the altar.

"I won't ask you to raise your hands and answer this question," the old man opened dramatically, his voice deep and stern; "because most likely, you'd make something up, rather than share the thing you _really_ think God might ask you to do. But, between you and God, I want you to hold onto the thing you _truly_ believe He is challenging you about."

The priest paused for a few moments, letting the words sink in.

"Now, I could try to comfort you by saying: 'do not be afraid', but I find that those words often achieve the opposite effect. They are far from reassuring. To quote the Poet Dillard: 'Church should be a dangerous place, a zone of risk, a place of new birth and new life, where we confront ourselves with who we truly are and who God is calling us to be'. That's not very reassuring now, is it?" the priest asked with a helpless smile and the crowd responded with obvious embarrassment in their eyes, some laughing nervously.

"Some of you come here out of obligation, thinking it doesn't matter what I say during my sermon – that it will all fall on deaf ears, but I can see that you are all paying attention now, even the bitter amongst you. The challenge of 'do not be afraid' summons us to listen, not just to me but to what God is saying to _you_ , personally. We listen because we're afraid... and we should be."

There was some uncomfortable murmuring in the crowd. A few people were shifting uneasily in their seats. Duo kept his eyes front, fascinated. He had a feeling that Father Dixon would have liked this sermon. Most likely he was delivering a similar one at that very moment. He found that very comforting... like a part of him was back home.

"Most of you come here for reassurance," the priest continued; "Some come regularly, some just once a year at Christmas, but both are just as committed to God without even realizing it. You are all here for the same reason: you are all struggling with that question – what is it I fear God will ask me to do? Will I be able to do it? And that is what Christmas is _really_ about! As much as we love the mince pies, turkey, crackers and colorful trees, Christmas is _not_ about this lovely, _warm and fuzzy_ story. It isn't _safe_. The story of the birth of Christ is a narrative in which each character is asked to do something that many of us would rather not be asked to do:

"Mary is asked to tell her boyfriend, Joseph, that she is pregnant with someone else's child and Joseph is asked to bring up this bastard child – is this something you'd be comfortable doing? Joseph, Mary and Jesus are asked to flee the land of their birth to escape the massacre that King Herod has in store, and end up living as refugees in Egypt where no one speaks their language... is that something you'd like to do? Would you be able to do any of those things without reservations? Do you feel safe when you think about what God has in store for you?"

Duo's hand snuck into his open leather jacket and under the collar of his shirt, seeking the cross hanging from his neck; Father Maxwell's cross. He pulled it out and placed it over the black sweater he was wearing so it would remain in plain sight, as though to listen to the sermon along with him. Father Maxwell would have stomped angrily out of the church, refusing to hear those words, believing this priest was speaking blasphemy. That was why he could never see eye-to-eye with the old man on matters of faith, no matter how much he loved him. Father Maxwell simply refused to adjust to the times in which they lived; that stubbornness was what eventually got him killed and left the church in charred ruins. Dixon and this priest were different, more down to Earth, as the saying went. That was why he could relate to their words, to their representation of God, far better than he could have ever relate to Father Maxwell's beliefs.

"This is a dangerous world," the priest determined; "Exactly a year ago, on December 25th AC 203, people just like you were gathered in five churches on the L4 colonies. A few minutes later, sixty-two of them were dead, blown to smithereens by bombs planted by anti-Colonists fanatics. We have people in this church tonight from the Colonies. You or your children have friends from the Colonies. People just like us, blown up for going to church at Christmas, just because they weren't born on God's Earth."

A few people grimaced and looked away anxiously. Duo's fist clenched even tighter around his cross, his glaring cobalt eyes fixed on the screen. He clutched his fist around the delicate sliver pendant, his eyes never leaving the words: _'What are you afraid He might ask you to do?'_

"Now," the priest continued, silencing the crowd's quiet murmuring,  "when you were pondering that question at the beginning of the mass, whatever God is asking _you_ to do, I bet it's not as scary as what happened to those Christians on L4. In a world where it is dangerous to be a Christian if you're not born on Earth, you have chosen to come here tonight, and I am glad that you have made the decision that for you Christmas is about more than just mince pie and turkey. For you, Christmas begins with Christ, with the challenge God has laid before us. We are constantly being challenged and tested by God..."

Duo's vision blurred as he continued gazing at the words on the screen. The priest's words faded into the background, drowned out by a swirling turmoil of thought.

His greatest fear has already been realized tonight: he's been asked to step aside, to resign to whatever fate God had in store for Heero and him. But what was the _real_ challenge: was he being challenged to act despite being told otherwise, or did the test lie in the waiting itself?

Did he have the power to change the outcome of whatever was in store, or was it only his faith that was being tested? What did he fear more: Heero dying, or Heero choosing _her_ again? Will he accept it if Heero chose Relena in the end?

More importantly: will he be capable of stepping aside without reservation if Heero chose Relena and somehow still came back alive?

He feared finding the answers to those questions. While he was certain that he would do the right thing, Duo was nonetheless terrified of discovering just how dark-hearted he could truly be when the moment comes and he would do one thing while feeling the exact opposite.

If God was asking him to act on what he truly wanted – the things he wouldn't even admit in his own mind – then he did not deserve redemption. He did not deserve God's love. He didn't deserve love at all... because deep down Duo feared that he would rather mourn for Heero's death than accept Heero choosing Relena once and for all. That was why he had named himself as Heero's choice, isn't it? It was the only way to ensure that Heero either chose him – or suffer a slow and agonizing death for his mistake.

"...In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen," the priest concluded his sermon and crossed his heart, bowing his head down respectfully.

Midnight Mass was over. The crowd scattered slowly after the service, people returning to their homes in preparations to greet Christmas Day. The large hall of worship remained empty and quiet, yet Duo was still seated at the back of the church, staring numbly ahead with a haunted look on his stubbly face. His bleary eyes were fixed on the vacant altar, staring dully at the large painting of The Crucifixion.

And then – God called unto him.

His cellphone rang. The loudly intrusive sound resonated off the church's walls. Duo jumped back in his seat, startled by the sudden uproar vibrating inside the empty hall. He yanked the ringing phone from his pocket, fumbling with it anxiously for his fingers were suddenly shaking.

The caller ID read _'Heero'_.

His heart jumped up to his throat. He stared at the name displayed on the screen, unable to breathe.

Shaw and Malone said no more calls. He's been instructed _not_ to act. The test was finally at hand... and he answered the challenge by taking the call.

He pressed the cellphone to his ear. His throat clamped shut; he was unable to speak. His heart pounded wildly in his chest.

"Don't speak, just listen," a cold, stern voice ordered harshly; "He wants to speak to you," it said; "Say one word and he's dead."

Duo's hand clenched angrily around the cellphone and his other hand trailed up his chest, searching for the cross. He grasped it tightly in his fist, and waited.

There was some rattling, like the phone was being moved. For a while, no one spoke, before a faint, shuddering gasp was heard.

"L-Lena..." a small, beaten voice rasped weakly and Duo felt his chest constrict and harden like stone. Heero had just whispered _her_ name. He had whispered her name while speaking to him – why? Was he going to choose her? Was she also on the line?

He bit his lower lip down, struggling to keep quiet and listen. He had a feeling that he will regret it.

"...you... there..?" he heard Heero mumble miserably; it sounded like he was in terrible pain. "I... he says I... I have to... tell you... I... I have to... to tell you... so he'll... so it... so they'll... stop..." he moaned, hurting. "Th—there— were... three... there were... th-three... of them... at... at the... museum... They... they... I let them... for her... for Elizabeth... I... I'm sorry... I... I'm letting them... now... they... they're—" he stopped, gasping sharply, and then let out a small, pathetic sob. Duo felt tears sting his eyes. He didn't want to hear anymore... this was a private conversation. Those words were meant for Relena, and the fact that the Redeemer has connected him to the call meant that he _really_ shouldn't be listening. This was the endgame move, and he was helpless to stop it.

"They're raping me!" Heero suddenly bellowed and Duo's heart just _stopped_. His face drained completely of color. _No!_ He wanted to scream, but couldn't. He wasn't even breathing anymore.

"...again... and again! And again!" Heero wept helplessly; "—I'm sorry! I'm sorry Lena! I can't fight back... I have to do it... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm... I'm... I'm sorry you... you have to know... I'm letting them, but she'll die anyway... I'm so sorry... she died... with my gun... in my home... I'm so sorry, Lena... I'm sorry... I... I didn't mean to be this way... I didn't want to be like them... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I just want them to stop... please... make them stop... the apes—please... I—I— they're hurting me! I can't stop them! I'm sorry! I don't want to do this... I have to... I'm so sorry... Don't hate me... don't leave me... Lena... plea—"

The call disconnected.

Duo slowly pulled the phone away from his ear. He stared at the empty screen numbly, his expression pale, mortified.

He had just allowed himself to be played... again.

Game, Set and Match.

*     *     *

 

[i] A term coined by psychotherapist Susan Anderson. See bibliography

[ii] This is of course the most famous quote from Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes.

 


	11. DDR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

A rumbling, quivering, ache was building up in the pit of his stomach. The rippling sensation crept slowly up to his chest. It shook his lungs and continued its way up, tickling his throat. He fought to suppress it, knowing the subsequent agony he would feel if he let it loose, but he was unable to stop it. He coughed – a dry, wheezing, heave of air – and pain burst forth just about everywhere, igniting in a series of tiny explosions wracking through his throbbing limbs. He moaned, letting out a low, thick and miserable sound, and turned his head aside, eyes clenched tightly. He could feel tears accumulating under his closed eyelids; a few treacherous drops slid down his cheeks.

His right upper arm throbbed viciously with a piercing pain that bit deep into the flesh; so did his right thigh. The gunshot wounds he had suffered must be infected. But the worse of all was his right knee, where pain pulsated on a skeletal level. His tibia bone was fractured badly, still shrilling in agony after being set back into place field-medicine style. Luckily, it was the lower part of the bone that has been fractured, so he could set it manually. It didn't hurt any less, but at least the damage was minimal. All he needed was some rest, to keep it elevated for a while, and then he could get back to work. He should get started on repairs soon; he could not afford to keep Wing inoperative for so long. His leg can recuperate while he worked on restoring Wing's cockpit.

He tried to move, but found that he couldn't. His body was too heavy, too numb. Even immobile it ached, as it was laid slumped heavily against a thin mattress, completely uncooperative.

Strange; he couldn't recall getting into a bed. Last he remembered he was standing on the top deck of a large naval platform owned by a group calling themselves The Sweepers, wedging his foot between the metal railings and using it to push against the strong banister with his other leg, thus setting back the broken bone. He had somehow wobbled up to his feet, his mind still reeling from pain and his vision blurry with tears squeezed out of his eyes by reflex. He had managed to get a short glimpse at how his battered mobile suit was being pulled out of the ocean water by a large crane and then... nothing. Everything just switched off and went black. He must have passed out; finally succumbing to the blood loss and shock his body has endured over the past twenty-four hours. He could feel a fever coursing through him, liquefying his muscles and pulsing heatedly in his flushed, sweaty, cheeks.

Fabric rustled and something screeched; springs, he deduced. It was the sound of a metal cot creaking. There was another bed in the room... someone was there with him.

He opened his eyes, just slightly, and took a peek. The room was flooded with bright morning light. A figure emerged from the shroud of brightness assaulting his eyes, slowly becoming clear as his pupils adjusted to the white glow and focused on the bed at the other side of the room. Someone was sitting there between tangled sheets, legs thrown down to the floor and both arms stretched backwards to support his torso as he leaned back casually. They were bare and muscular arms; lean, but not fragile. The figure was dressed in baggy black trousers, secured tightly around a trim waist, and a loose gray tank top rippling enticingly over a taut chest. A long snake of hair was draped across a slim, bare, shoulder. It dangled down in a lush tangle of hair braided together sloppily and finally straying loose at the edge for there was no hairband to hold it together. The unruly tresses pooled over the figure's open lap, kissing the inner thigh. The rich, chestnut-brown hair seemed to glow angelically under the soft morning light pouring from a hatch above.

The almost androgynous figure sat leaning supported against the bed, looking up at the hatch to the side with a pensive, mellow, expression; a wistful smile hovering over pale lips and a pair of cobalt-blue eyes gleaming warmly under the bright light. He stared, without even realizing that he's been gaping at the tantalizing vision for a few good minutes. His mouth was dry, his breath heavy. He would have liked to blame it on the fever, but he feared that it was something else entirely...

Slowly, the nameless figure turned away from the window, facing him.

"Mornin' sunshine," a soft, lenient, male voice greeted and he blinked, dazed. He wracked his brain, searching for a name, trying to recall who this person was exactly. He could not remember, probably because he had never bothered asking. To be fair, the boy had never asked for his name either. Duo will only find out that he went by the name Heero Yuy after the New Edwards Base mission, when Sally Po will call his codename over the com-link channel and ask him to deactivate an array of missiles—wait a minute. That couldn't be right. It didn't happen yet... only it had, a long time ago. Did that make any sense?

He hadn't gotten used to his new name and he remembered how strange it felt to hear someone call it out during a mission, addressing him personally as though the codename meant something more than just an alias chosen almost arbitrarily. Only Relena had spoken his new name up to that point. She made that name _real_ , she made it _his_ , and by doing that she made _him_ real... but not as _real_ as Duo made him. He used to think that the "real him" was a beast dwelling in darkness; one that had to be restrained, let loose only around those who were capable of taming it... like Duo. But the time he had spent with Duo taught him he was more than just a savage and bloodthirsty beast; there was something beyond the anger and danger, something small and afraid... and Duo was determined to see it. He resented Duo for constantly trying to dig in a little deeper and pull that _something_ out; his entire _being_ rested on that fragile _something_ like a rickety house of cards. Allowing Duo to drag it out into the open would devastate him completely. He had always known that on some level, subconscious or otherwise. Funny how clear it was now that he was looking back into a future that has already happened.

He couldn't remember how he had eventually learned Duo's name. It didn't matter anyway. Allies were out of the question; they will only get in his way. Duo will only get in his way. He'll distract him, change him... fill his world with uncertainty and dangerous longing... the kind of spiritual longing Relena will claim during their endless future arguing that he lacked, but he didn't... not when it came to Duo. He craved Duo in ways he was ashamed to admit; he yearned for him in ways he never even imagined he was capable of...  and that was the real menace. Duo was going to suck him in like a black hole and he will never be the same again... that _something_ will consume him from the inside out, reaching out to Duo no matter how much he would try to suppress it. But how could he possibly know that if it didn't happen yet? Past, present and future were all mixed up again... something wasn't right.

Duo sniggered. "You can say that again," he muttered cynically.

Heero turned to glare at him. He tried to move, but still couldn't. His body refused to lift off the bed; he was bound down to it, crushed under invisible heavy weights. He wheezed, straining, but remained immobile despite his efforts. Helpless, he turned to look up at the other boy. Duo was still sitting propped casually on the other bunk, watching him mutely while he struggled. There was an eerily distant expression on his handsome boyish face. That wasn't right either, he realized. Duo shouldn't be so young anymore...

"This isn't real," he determined, looking into young Duo's eyes.

"Nope," Duo confirmed simply, shrugging casually.

"Am I still tied to that chair?" he asked despairingly.

"Yup."

"...and you can't help me," he sighed and turned to look at the ceiling.

"You can't even help yourself," Duo pointed out nastily.

"Don't be a smartass," Heero muttered jadedly, closing his aching eyes. The dim white halo behind his eyelids gradually faded. He was falling into darkness... melting back into himself. When he opened his eyes again, there was only black. The present was all around him, wrapping him in a cold, dark and disturbingly quiet blanket of reality.

He was alone, still restrained to the reclined chair; frozen numb, naked and utterly exposed for his legs have been left propped up on the leg-rests and stirrups, spread wide open. The IV needle stung his arm; dripping fluids mixed with drugs into his vein. His head was swimming... woozy.

Darkness swirled lazily around him like oil stains in a glass of water. It shifted around him, moving like a predator slowly circling its prey... Shadows sneaking stealthily across the room. He could catch them moving in the corner of his eyes, taking humanoid form as they approached. They stilled whenever he tried to take a direct look. They were waiting for the right time to leap out of the darkness and attack. He will be helpless to stop them. They will devour him alive and he will die swallowed by darkness... alone.

"You're alone cuz he's at work, you know," Duo remarked nonchalantly. He couldn't see him, but he knew he was there. Duo was always there, lurking deep within the Shadows in back of his subconscious mind, living on the edge of his darkest emotions... preying on desires he could never truly realize. The only difference now was that he could actually hear him, even if there was no one there. He was speaking to thin air, falling further into himself... going out of his mind, diving into the heart of darkness where Duo usually awaited. It was an inescapable presence; an unbearable pressure constantly pressing against his soul. He couldn't stop it, because he could never stop feeling... not anymore. His soul has been laid bare on a madman's operating table, dissected to pieces... There was no escape.

"This is your chance to get da fuck outta here..." Duo insisted nonetheless.

Heero laughed; a hoarse and hostile whistle of air bursting out of him uncontrollably. The bitter chuckle was followed by a dry cough. His throat was parched, raw and aching.

"I can't break out of here..." he croaked weakly, shaking his head.

"Can't or won't?" Duo challenged.

"You're being a smartass again," he sighed, closing his eyes once again. His legs hurt after being spread forcefully apart for so long. His anus still throbbed after being violated by the vibrator for hours on end. He had screamed, he had cried and he had begged Sloan to stop... to make the apes go away... to make them stop raping him... until it was finally over. The apes vanished at some point and so did the museum. It was just the vibrator after a while, just an object, an instrument of torture, and that he could handle. And indeed, Sloan only stopped when he had finally called a spade a spade and pleaded with him to take the vibrator out. He didn't know if the violation counted as rape... he hoped it didn't.

"Do you think that psycho actually _helped_ you?" Duo demanded angrily, insulted by the mere consideration of the unholy notion.

"I don't know..." he mumbled weakly; "I don't think anything anymore..."

"You're thinking about me," Duo pointed out.

"I can't help it..." Heero murmured dazedly, licking his chapped lips, but failing to dampen them because his mouth was so dry; "I'm always thinking about you..."

Duo snickered scornfully. "In that case, I'm flattered."

"Don't be..." he whispered, sighing; "it doesn't mean much..."

"Da fuck not!"

"Because I never act on it... I never go beyond thinking."

"And why's that?"

"You know why..."

"Da Hell I do. Tell me."

"Same reason you let me get away with it... because you're afraid to lose what we already have..."

"But we never had much of anything, did we Heero?" Duo grumbled, disgruntled; "We just had sex. Great sex, but just sex..."

"Yeah..." he agreed, a silly smile on his lips; "you were always so fucking hot..."

"But sex wasn't enough," Duo accused and Heero released a frustrated sigh. "Don't start that again..." he mumbled weakly.

"Why? Got anything better to do? Maybe if I _piss you off_ hard enough you'll do something about breaking out of these restraints so that you could punch me in the face..."

"I'll end up with broken wrists and nothing more for my trouble."

"I saw you do it before," Duo argued; "I saw you rip through your bonds at the Alliance hospital and I saw you bend _steel_ to break us outta that OZ base... This should be a walk in the park for you, right?"

Heero laughed bitterly, shaking his head in dismissal. "I was on fucking steroids... J pumped me up with so much juice I felt like I could do anything, even if my bones break, even if I was shot and bleeding... I didn't feel any of it. I could keep going until I couldn't anymore."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you being drugged now too?" Duo dismissed his protest easily; "You're aware that you're just talking to yourself, right? You wouldn't be talking to me if I were real... Just do it already. Get this shit over with."

"What's the point?"

"So you're just gonna lie here until you wither and die?"

"Hmm... sounds like a plan..." he mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes. Exhaustion was taking over. He was drifting further into darkness... but he couldn't sleep, not with the Shadows lurking all around. He could hear them moving freely now that he wasn't looking, whispering amongst themselves... scheming his death. They were closing in on him, detaching from the walls... pacing soundlessly towards him... their grimy hands stretched forward menacingly...

"There are no monsters here," Duo countered; "Don't let the drugs fool you."

Bubbly-laughter spluttered out of his aching lungs, loud and untamable. And that was coming from a drug-induced hallucination, Heero realized with great amusement. He found it outright _ridiculous_ that _Duo_ was the one representing his voice of reason! The very idea was absurd and the irony of it all simply drove him into madness. He couldn't stop laughing! He was laughing so hard tears stung his eyes.

"You're going nuts," Duo accused and Heero nodded eagerly in agreement, still laughing madly.

"I know!" he cried out, snickering drunkenly.

"Then get a grip already," Duo muttered in aggravation, scoffing. "Snap outta it, man, you're freaking me out."

Why should he snap out of this crazy daze? Nothing but pain lay beyond the refuge of this illusionary state. Besides, he'd rather laugh than cry again...

"I like it here," he said, struggling to contain the bursting giggles, shoving them down his throat long enough to speak. "This is better."

"He can hear you, you know," Duo suddenly commented. Heero stopped laughing immediately. He opened his eyes and turned his head left and right, searching the darkness. There was no one there and Duo was hiding along with the treacherous Shadows.

"There's no one here..." he argued weakly; "he can't hear me."

"Sure he can," Duo insisted; "There aren't any moving shadows here, Heero. That's just your paranoia senses tingling... You know he's listening. He won't relinquish control, even if he's at work. He's listening... and he can hear you going out of your mind."

Heero blinked, suddenly focused. That actually made sense. The Voice that was constantly invading his dreams... that was Sloan wasn't it? The madman was communicating with him remotely somehow while he was away. Damn it.

He heaved a long sigh and turned his head upright again, gazing at the faint outline of the closed projector-light above him, trying to concentrate and keep his damn mouth shut. His head was still swimming... it was hard to keep his focus. He felt drunk. What he wouldn't give for a shot of Jameson right now... He sniggered goofily, choking on more laughter. He couldn't contain it, and the giggles spewed wildly out of him again.

"Heero!" Duo hissed angrily, "Cut it out! Focus God damn it! Focus!" he urged anxiously and Heero found that very funny! Since when did Duo have to tell _him_ to keep his eyes on the ball? Oh no – a sport's metaphor! Duo must be rubbing off on him... Ha! Rubbing off! Get it!? He couldn't stop laughing. His throat hurt from laughing so hard, but he couldn't stop!

"Jesus Christ..." Duo muttered in disappointment; "You've completely lost it, man." He sighed. "No one is coming for you, Heero," he warned somberly; "It's up to you to put an end to this nightmare. Unless you're actually waiting for _me_ to come for you..."

That got his attention. The laughter ceased almost instantly. He turned to look at the Shadows, his expression wounded.

"You won't come for me?"

"When have I ever come for you, Heero?" Duo snarled nastily. "And please don't say that time at the Alliance hospital," he sighed; "I know you like to think about it as some kind of pleasant memory, but that's just your twisted way of seeing things... nothing more."

"But it was... that was the first... the first time anyone has ever helped me..." he argued feebly.

"That's _bullshit_ and you know it," Duo scoffed dismissively; "I _shot_ you and I left you for dead, drifting face down in the water," he reminded him; " _Relena_ was the one who helped you. _She_ stood in the line of fire for you. _She_ bandaged your bleeding wounds with her _fancy_ prom dress. _She_ pulled you out of the water after I split. _She_ was there when the paramedics took you to the hospital. I busted you out cuz that's what they told me to do. You know that. I wouldn't be sayin' it if you didn't already know it. I rescued you under orders. Why are you holding on to this _fairytale_ version, Heero? What's the point?"

That hurt. Heero didn't want to hear anymore. Duo was right, he's known that all along, but he never wanted to admit that— "I was always the one coming for you..." he mumbled mournfully; "Always... You'd... you'd always let me... you let me have you whenever I wanted, but... but you... you never... never initiated... never sought me out too. You never came for me..." he accused with a small, miserable, voice, "Not after Siberia... not at the Moon Base... They experimented on me... I... I was... I couldn't... I was... but you... you just escaped in the first chance you got and never looked back... You didn't wait for me... never came back for me... you never do... You left me in Brussels... I couldn't talk, Duo! There was so much to say, but I couldn't talk... you didn't wait long enough until I could... you just left... you just left and never came back... you never come for me..."

"That's right," Duo agreed; "so why do you still expect me to show up after I've let you down so many times?"

Heero fell silent.

*     *     *

Seated behind the computer at his desk on the 52nd floor of the Preventer field office building, Dr. Sloan paused his typing and turned his glace to the small audio-streaming window at the bottom of his computer screen. There was a small Bluetooth earphone plugged into his left ear. His golden-framed eyeglasses reflected the black and white document he was currently typing as he stared intently at the screen. Only the title was bold enough to be distinguished: _'Heero Yuy: Evaluation & Management'_. A few heavy textbooks were piled on his desk, some open. The one currently spread next to the keyboard was open on a page on which the title read: _'Trauma Rehabilitation after War and Conflict'_.

Only a heavy hissing noise whirred in his ear as he waited for the semi-coherent stream of words to resume.

*     *     *

Heero stared numbly at the darkness. His lips parted slightly, about to form a sound, but the words were lodged deeply in his throat.

"How come you want me so damn much?" Duo pressed on, asking the same question he always did; a question Heero always avoided because answering it meant total and shameless exposure of a secret desire he fought to deny, afraid the house of cards might collapse on top of him and leave his soul in shambles. Denial was a rule he had lived by for as long as he could remember; a rule he had even been willing to die for if necessary. Denial kept him strong, kept him safe... untouchable. The minute he had stopped denying what he felt, things changed. He had gained so much to fight for, and then he had lost... all of it. The house of cards has collapsed, burying him alive until a pile of nightmares. No amount of denial was enough to shuffle the rubble away. There was no denying the fear and the shame, the deep and brazen devotions now ruling his heart, constantly stirring the pain in his soul... so why did he still insist on holding onto that last shred of bogus dignity? What was the point? Why couldn't he answer Duo's question? Why couldn't he just choose and let go?

"Yeah," Duo agreed; "Why is that, Heero? Why can't you just say it? You know the answer... why can't you just accept it?"

"I—" he choked on the word, stopping himself and shaking his head frantically. "I can't..."

"Da fuck not?"

"I can't choose..."

"Why not? What harm could it possibly do at this point?" Duo asked softly and Heero heaved a woeful sigh.

"...because... because... because if I... if I choose..." he mumbled, shaking his head helplessly as he sniveled the words out mournfully; "one of you will leave me... and I... I... I won't be... I won't be able to be... the _'me'_ that I know... that you all know... he'll... I... I... can't, you see... I... I don't... I can't... can't undo it... I don't have... don't have the right... to... undo... this... you see? It's... not my choice to make..."

Heero's voice faded into a thick, miserable silence. Back in his office, Dr. Sloan smiled smugly. He adjusted the earpiece more securely, shoved his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose, and resumed typing.

*     *     *

Duo left, having nothing more left to say. That was fine. One of them always left the other hanging. Issues were never resolved. That was fine too. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about anything anymore... There was nothing important enough to care about, to care for.

Elizabeth was dead. His daughter was dead. He would have been able to accept it if they had died together at the museum, but they didn't. He had survived... doomed to outlive his own flesh and blood. That was unnatural, unfair. Life was never fair... only death was. It claimed everyone in the end. He just had to wait his turn.

The Shadows had retreated along with Duo. He was alone again; alone in the dark. He wasn't lying tied to that chair, though. He didn't know how or why, but he was lying on the floor... curled into a fetal position on the soft beige carpet that used to deck his living room floor back in DC.

The apartment was dark. Pale blue moonlight filtered through the transparent white curtains draped over the balcony window. In the far horizon, the Capitol Hill was illuminated in a majestic display of lights. He couldn't care less for the view. His dull gaze was fixed forward, gaping numbly at the foot of the coffee table stationed before him, as he had been doing since he had gotten back home from the hospital many hours ago.

An object has been left discarded under the low dark-wooden table. He could make out its faint outline in the dark. He's been staring at it since dusk, until darkness fell and he could no longer see it clearly.

Fearing that it might disappear, swallowed by darkness like everything else, he felt the burning urge to hold it. He reached a trembling hand forward, stretching it under the coffee table until his straining fingers managed to grab hold of a tiny part of it. The object was soft and fluffy. Tears welled in his eyes once he touched it. He grasped onto a tiny furry foot and pulled the object closer.

It was a bunny, a stuffed pink bunny. Elizabeth's favorite toy; left under his coffee table the day she had died in this apartment.

The floodgates flung wide open and an unstoppable tidal wave of tears gushed out, coursing through him violently. His very _soul_ was crying. The experience was beyond intense. His whole body trembled, agony spilling from every pore, surging out of him through heartbroken sobs and wails. He clutched the toy bunny close to his chest, curled deeper into himself and buried his face against the soft pink fur. He cried for hours, his first real cry since infancy. He was unable to stop even when his throat was raw and aching and his anguished whimpers came out as nothing but pathetic hoarse hiccups. He cried until his tears ran dry and his body was drained; only his soul remained... bare, bleeding and wounded.

The tide receded slowly, leaving him numb, shattered. He remained lying curled on the carpet, hugging the bunny and staring expressionlessly ahead.

Voices drifted from the other rooms of his apartment; mere whispers at first, but when he focused on the words he could hear them; his parents were arguing again:

"There is something wrong with that boy," his stepfather accused.

"There is nothing wrong with him!" his mother insisted.

"He doesn't even cry!"

"He's a strong boy..."

"He's _three_ and he lost his favorite toy – three-year-olds cry over those stupid things!"

He didn't lose it. His stepfather took it away just to make him cry, but he didn't. He refused to give the man the satisfaction.

"I'm telling you," the man insisted; "there something's _off_ with that child, Aoi!"

"And what do _you_ know about it?!" his mother demanded furiously; "Seiki is _my_ son and _I_ say he's _FINE_!"

His stepfather snorted. "Do you even realize that it's been _four days_ since he last spoke? Do you even _notice_?!"

"He knows better than to get in the way of our work..." his mother mumbled an obvious excuse; "He's a smart boy, Seis, that's all. He's fine."

"That boy gives me the _creeps_..."

"Don't you _dare_ speak about my son that way!"

The arguing went on and on... he didn't bother listening anymore. They devoted more time arguing about him than actually talking to him. He could hear more arguing coming from another room, drowning out the continuous sound of his parents' arguing. Two gruff old men were also arguing about him:

"Seven years of work down the drain!" the first accused harshly. Heero recognized his voice. Back then he didn't know who that man was, but now, years later, he was well aware that this voice belonged to the man known as Dekim Barton, the brain behind Operation Meteor and later the Mariemeia Uprising.

"Seven years and what have you got to show for it – a soldier crying over a _fluffy little corpse!_ "

Heero cringed at the sound of utter contempt in his voice. He curled deeper into himself, hugging Lizzie's toy closer... only it wasn't a soft bunny-doll anymore, but a small, dead, white puppy.

"He made a mistake..." the other voice, old and rough, insisted; it was Dr. J. "Civilians died... it's only natural—"

"This is war!" Barton exploded; "Sacrificing the general public is of no relevance – got it?! Now retrain him at once! Our weapon has no use for human kindness!"

Heero closed his eyes sadly and more tears squeezed out. He buried his face in the dead puppy's fur, hiding.

"He doesn't even know how to cry!" Seis shouted from one room.

Yes he could... he _could!_ He cried over Elizabeth... so many tears. They haven't stopped flowing since. They poured out of him all on their own without warning, without restraint. He _could_ cry...

"A soldier can't cry!" Barton barked madly from another room.

But he couldn't help it! Something just... broke. He couldn't help it...

Silence fell. For a while, it was dead quiet... but then he could hear a disturbing, steady screeching sound. Metal hinges creaked in a monotonous rhythm. It was a sound he knew well, for it had been drilled into his psyche like a dog whistle command; a subliminal message demanding his utmost attention... total and irrepressible obedience.

Dr. J's metal-clawed hand was opening and closing; he could see it clearly without even opening his eyes. The sound was getting closer. His body tensed, his heart pounding dreadfully. The creaking stopped. A heavy, forbidding silence engulfed the room. It pushed down against him... suffocating him. He didn't dare opening his eyes, afraid to face the nightmare. He hugged the small furry body in his arms even closer, curling deeper into a fetal position, trying to become invisible.

"Heero," the old man's voice was coming from somewhere near him. He could feel his overwhelming presence. J was right beside him now.

He opened his eyes, blinded by tears. He blinked them away, clearing his vision. The old man was crouching on the carpet in front of him, looking down at him through unreadable, bone-chilling goggle-covered eyes.

"Give me the puppy," he ordered, somewhat softly, like he understood how much it hurt to give it away.

Heero shook his head frantically. He closed his eyes and pulled back, away from J. He buried his head against the small body and clutched it tightly to his chest. Fresh tears dampened his face.

"It's not a puppy..." he whispered dolefully, his voice trembling with anguish; "she's my daughter... and I should have never let her go..." he wailed brokenly and held Elizabeth's small body tightly against his chest, refusing to let go.

"They're talking about retraining you, Heero," Dr. J warned.

"Let them..." he mumbled, petting his dead daughter's long blonde hair; "It won't be as bad as this..."

"They'll destroy every last bit of kindness you've managed to uphold."

"Let them..." he whispered ruefully; "it doesn't matter... I'm sick of feeling... It's... too much. I just want it to stop..."

Dr. J sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "You're a disappointment."

He looked up, glaring spitefully at his former mentor. "I'm human," he reminded J coldly. "They made me human again. Duo... and Relena... they made me feel this way... made me real..." he sighed, bowing his head down again. "It's too much... you can take it away again... undo it... undo me... retrain me... I don't care. You'll be doing me a favor. I can't do it by myself... it won't be right."

Dr. J heaved a sigh. "You're beyond salvaging," he determined somberly. "There's nothing I can do for you."

Heero nodded silently in acceptance. He already knew that. There was only one way out. He closed his eyes and brought the object in his hand up to his face. He wasn't holding Elizabeth anymore, nor was he holding the puppy or the bunny. He was holding a gun, the same Glock 22 his daughter had accidently shot herself with. He tucked the cold metal barrel under his chin. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was no longer lying on the carpet in his old apartment. It was cold and he could feel soft snow beneath him. He was back there, in those ruins on L1...  lying between ash-covered rubble of a building he had destroyed by accident. He had held a gun to his head back then too, it was the only way out after they retrained him... but J had stopped him.

"And I gave you three options before disembarking on Operation Meteor," Dr. J reminded him; he was still crouching next to him. "Do you remember what they were?"

Heero nodded against the gun, the barrel digging into his lower jaw.

"Massacre the people of Earth, kill you and escape or... kill myself," he answered calmly.

"And what did you choose?"

"None of those..." he mumbled ruefully; "I chose to fight... on my own terms."

"A bold choice," J remarked.

"An obvious one," he argued; "I didn't know how to do anything else."

"Do you regret it?"

"I should have pulled the trigger."

"And why didn't you?"

"...same reason I didn't do it when Elizabeth died..." he mumbled, sighing; "I don't deserve the choice."

"So you keep waiting for someone else to do it for you?"

 **OR DO YOU SIMPLY AVOID MAKING TOUGH CHOICES?** The Voice was back, bombarding the air around him like a sonic boom. He wasn't surprised. The Voice always spoke up at some point.

"I've made many tough choices..." he muttered a reply.

 **TACTICAL DECISIONS, NONE OF THEM REMOTELY PERSONAL** , the Voice pointed out.

Heero rolled over in the ash/snow, turning away from the Voice. He curled into a fetal position again, clutching the pistol to his chest.

"Go away..." he pleaded miserably; "Just... go away..."

 **TELL ME ABOUT YOUR MILITARY INDOCTRINATION** , the Voice demanded nonetheless.

"There's nothing to tell..." he mumbled; "go away... stop listening... get out of my head..."

 **TELL ME ABOUT DR. J** , the Voice insisted. **HOW LONG DID YOU TRAIN UNDER HIM?**

"...a long time..." he spoke the compulsorily words; "He... J... raised me... after... after Odin... He... he trained me for... for seven... long... years... always there... always... training... testing me... making me do things... hard things... and I couldn't say no... had to do it... had to do it right... the first time or..."

**OR HE WOULD HURT YOU?**

"...yeah..."

**HOW?**

"Go away... please... just... go away... let me sleep..." he begged; "no more talking... no more questions... just... go away... all of you just... go away... let me die here... go away..."

For a while, it was quiet. The Voice vanished, leaving him in peace. He drifted in blessed nothingness... floating like a fetus in his mother's womb... until the flaring pain of electrocution yanked him back to reality and he found himself back in that chair again; bound, naked, exposed, vulnerable... and racked by a terrible pain... screaming.

Dr. Sloan was sitting next to him, holding his yellow notepad. He reached a hand towards the ECT machine, turning a dial.

The pain stopped.

Heero slumped against the reclined chair in relief, the cries dying in his throat. He gaped at Sloan dully.

"Toldja he was listening," Duo whispered from the Shadows. Heero ignored him. He didn't want Sloan to know Duo was there... because he wasn't.

"Children are more malleable and adaptable than adults," Sloan opened formally, holding his pen over the notepad as he looked down at Heero coldly. "They are easier to indoctrinate, as their moral development is not yet completed and they tend to listen to authorities without questioning them. How old were you when Dr. J took you in?"

Heero frowned, trying to digest the long stream of textbook words coming out of his captor's mouth. It took him a moment to realize he's been asked a question.

"I don't know..." he mumbled dozily; "young... less than ten... it was after... after Odin... died... J found me... took me in... I thought I was doing the right thing... following what... what... what Odin taught me... what he... what he... wanted me... to be..."

Sloan nodded, glancing down at his notepad briefly. He wrote something and looked back up.

"Being left alone in your struggle to survive without the care of an adult was what pushed you into recruitment, Heero, nothing else," he determined, fixing his sharp gaze on his patient. He adjusted his eyeglasses over the bridge of his nose and for a split of a terrifying second Heero thought that he was looking at Dr. J adjusting his freakish goggles.

"You might think that you volunteered to enlist," Sloan continued, "but in fact, being a mere child, you had very limited access to information concerning the consequences of your choice. You could neither control nor fully comprehend the structures and forces that you'll be dealing with. Even if it might have appeared to you that you chose to join and remain in the militia, that choice cannot be considered _'voluntary'_ , Heero. You were a victim of circumstance, and Dr. J used that to his advantage. Over time, as your commander, using systematic indoctrination and acculturation, J replaced the position of a caretaker and served as your adult role model, which children will naturally accept, and in fact, need to attach to for mentorship, guidance, and survival. You stayed because you needed Dr. J, you grew attached to him. Despite of everything, you depended on him. You had nothing else, no one to look after you."

"He's trying to screw with you," Duo warned him; "Don't play into his game."

Heero frowned. Duo had a point.

"Tell me about J, Heero," Sloan demanded.

"Don't tell him anything!" Duo hissed.

Heero stared dazedly at the projector above him, struggling to decide to whom he should listen.

"Did you look up to him as a mentor?" Sloan pressed on.

Heero continued gaping dully at the lamp above, trying to concentrate.

"Um... no..." he mumbled, unsure; "I... I don't know... maybe... sometimes... I don't know... sometimes... maybe... yes."

"Tell me," Sloan commanded and Heero complied reluctantly:

"J was... he... he was always... there... the only one I... I... I didn't... there was no one else... I... I needed him... sometimes... to be proud... maybe... to answer my questions... but I... I was... usually I was just... afraid... I never asked... not everything... I didn't know... so many... things... Duo laughed... he laughed at me... it wasn't funny... but he laughed... like I was stupid... He shouldn't have laughed... Relena never laughed..."

"Oh sure, make _me_ out to be the bad guy..." Duo grumbled, snorting.

Sloan nodded and took some notes, focusing on his notepad for a while. Once done, he looked back up at Heero.

"Children enter a new, violent, world as they become child-soldiers," he said; "Militia groups indoctrinate children by forcing them to kill or watch others kill... sometimes their own family. They endure torture, physical abuse and threats of death for disobedience. Many of them are forced to take addictive drugs as an attempt to steel children for combat. Did any of that happen to you?"

"Yeah..." he sighed and closed his aching eyes, tired; "all of it..."

Sloan nodded sternly and wrote something down.

"Many children also suffer sexual assault and rape," he added; "were you forced to endure those as well, or was the time at the museum your first?"

"You don't have to tell him about that," Duo whispered from the Shadows. "You don't have to tell _anyone_ about that..."

But he couldn't help it...

"No..." he mumbled, shaking his head sadly. "No rape... no... I... I... I knew how to... to defend myself... J told them... not to touch me again... ever... I... he said I could... I could kill them if they tried again... they never did..."

"Still," Sloan insisted, "a child-soldier's suffering is profound... inescapable," – he almost sounded sympathetic – "Studies indicate that exposure to extreme atrocities has a more lasting and impressionable effect on child-soldiers compared to adults. They are raised in an environment of severe violence. They experience it and often commit cruelties and atrocities of the worst kind... often against a civilian population. What kind of atrocities did you commit, Heero?"

He kept his eyes closed and turned the other way, ashamed. "Please... don't... don't make me... I... I didn't mean it..."

"How many dead because of your actions, Heero?" Sloan demanded harshly.

"He's fucking with you!" Duo exclaimed angrily; "Stop letting him! It's not your fault, Heero – got it?! Not your fault!"

"But it is... it is my fault..." Heero whispered miserably. "There were... so many... I don't know... I just shoot... I just... I... I shoot, and the target is gone... I don't know... J told me not to count... don't count... just shoot... I don't know... I'm sorry... I can hear them screaming... at night, when I'm in bed... they scream over the open com... they all screamed... then... silence..."

Duo snorted. He retreated deeper into the Shadows and kept quiet. Heero could tell that he was pissed. He felt bad for angering Duo, betraying him by speaking things they weren't supposed to admit... not even to each other; especially not to each other. Why was that? Why shouldn't they share this pain if they both felt it?

"There's something in the human perception of our interactions with one another that seems to give rise to anxiety in the face of caused harms whose consequences we see," Sloan explicated starkly; "When you only _hear_ someone suffering from the harm you inflict, your victim's suffering possess an abstract-remote quality. You're aware, but only in a conceptual sense. Your _reason_ knows, but other parts of your soul haven't registered what's going on. You can reasonably suppose that your weapons will inflict suffering and death, but this knowledge is divested of affect and thus does not move you to a felt emotional response to the suffering of your actions. Have you ever looked at the face of someone you've killed?"

"I didn't want to..." he murmured faintly, shaking his head. There was a pained, tortured expression on his haggard face. "There were... five... five at first... then... many... many... more... I couldn't kill them... It was... it was never required of me... n-not at first..."

Sloan nodded in approval. "That's because visual cues of the victim's suffering trigger an empathic response and provide with a more complete grasp of the victim's experience," he said; "One of the major strategies to enable people to commit harms against others is to use a language of dehumanization, referring to the group being harmed as Ozzies or _targets_ for example... as none-human in some way. When we perceive another as human it's difficult to overcome the tendency not to want to harm them, and this is a tendency they didn't want you to develop. They kept you behind the controls of a mobile suit where you could act but you couldn't see...

"The puppy was an exception... they never took into account that you'd react to the dead puppy as you would react to a dead person... but they should have. It was the first time you were faced with the consequences of your actions. Tell me about the puppy, Heero."

"Mary..." he whispered, sniffling. Tears soaked his gaunt and unshaven face. "There was a little girl... in the park... on L1... she was walking her dog... Mary..."

"And you killed them?"

"Everyone... the whole block... I blew it up... It was... it was an accident... I... I didn't mean it... I miscalculated... I... I was... wrong... it was a mistake... I'm sorry..."

"How many casualties?"

"I don't know... a lot... I... there were so many bodies... I found Mary in the rubble... she was dead. No one bothered taking her along with the others... I... I... I... I took her with me... They... they didn't like it... they said I couldn't keep her..."

"You were forced to give her up."

He nodded, whimpering helplessly. "I didn't want to..."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know... thirteen or fourteen... it was just before... before they sent me to Earth..."

"How did you react when they tried to take Mary away?"

"I didn't want to... I... I tried to kill him... I almost did... but they stopped me... sent me away... to get better..."

"And afterwards you had no more problem killing, did you?"

"I can look them straight in the eye... and shoot. I didn't... didn't ask for anything anymore... I just... I shoot. Five people... I shot them just because... because J... just because he said so..."

Dr. Sloan nodded gravely. "Militia groups target children because they are more obedient than adults, as well as more psychologically vulnerable," Sloan informed him; "To a military eye, children are easy-keepers... they make fewer demands than adults, and thus serve more easily at the bottom of military hierarchy. Children are cheap labor and they are in such bountiful supply, that they are expendable soldiers as compared to trained adults. And yet, you were different, weren't you, Heero? They still chose to keep you, retrain you... put the time and effort to reinforce your psyche. Why do you think that is?"

"There... there wasn't much time..." he reasoned, trying to make sense of issues he had always avoided; "they needed me to fight... so many years... training... there was no time to get someone else..."

"Or you were simply too good to replace," Sloan offered an alternative. "You see, during childhood and adolescence, the mind and brain are particularly plastic," he elaborated; "Exposure to significant stressors during sensitive developmental periods causes the brain to develop along a stress-responsive pathway... it becomes organized in a way to facilitate survival in a world of deprivation and danger, enhancing your capacity to rapidly and dramatically shift into an intensely-aggressive, or fearful-fleeing state when threatened. You were already a well-bred killer by that point, Heero. Years of training wired you in a way that made you unique to their cause – irreplaceable. You knew only how to fight or to flee... like an animal... and a well-trained animal is hard to replace.

"All they had to do was reinforce your mental defenses... fortify you further... make sure you won't flip out again when faced with trauma. By doing that, they denied you of any chance to heal once everything was over. You cannot cope, you just deny... disregarding anything that might get in the way of what you were trained to do. You've been repeatedly exposed to chronic and traumatic stress while growing up, which deprived you from a normal and healthy development and impaired your chances to reintegrate into society as a fully functioning member. Essentially, by retraining you, they've turned you into someone who could never adapt to peaceful environments once the violence has ceased.

"Successful rehabilitation of ex-soldiers during peacetime requires the same strategy that's applied to peacekeeping operations, a strategy I am sure you are closely familiar with in your line of work: DDR – Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration;" Sloan stated critically. "As you know, disarmament entails the physical removal of means of combat from ex-belligerents – yet you still walk around fully armed. Demobilization entails the disbanding of armed groups – yet you still belong to one of the very few legally armed organizations on the planet. And as for reintegration into civilian society – you have done everything in your power to avoid becoming a part of peacetime society. You deliberately stay on the sidelines under the pretense of protecting the society you are so keen to shun. You've executed all sort of peacekeeping operations to ensure against a possible resurgence of armed conflict that might endanger this society, but you yourself refuse to DDR. You are the very thing you fight against, Heero. You are, and always will be, a soldier.

"That's why you chose to carry out Operation Meteor under your own terms. That's why you joined Preventer when it was all over, and that's why you didn't quit even after what happened in DC. You don't know how to do anything else. The risk of re-recruitment increases when ex-combatants fail to reintegrate into their civil communities. You couldn't find a place in this world you were forced to create, so you repeatedly thrust yourself into perilous and potentially traumatizing situations as a means to justify who and what you are. This is why you're here, Heero. This is why you chose to take this assignment... to leave Cyber and transfer to the CID. You volunteered for this mission because you _wanted_ me to take you."

"Is that it, Heero?" Duo asked anxiously, speaking from the Shadows; "is that what you _really_ want?"

"No..." he shook his head in denial, but it didn't feel genuine... not at all. "no... I just... I... I wanted to stop him... stop the killing... stop... you..."

"No, I don't think you did," Dr. Sloan objected calmly. "Others could have tried to stop me... it didn't have to be you."

"Is this how much you want to die?" Duo whispered, appalled; "Outta all the ways to go... is this it? Really?"

"There's no other way..." he wept, tearful; "I need him to... to undo me..." he answered helplessly, weeping; "undo all this... mess... just... undo it... make it... disappear... make me... disappear... I don't want to be real anymore..."

"You took this assignment because you were after what only I can offer you:" Sloan interpreted his slurred words simply; "Redemption," he determined. "Because like all child-soldiers, you carry a special burden... one you cannot resolve on your own. It's the burden of simultaneously being the recipient and perpetrator of violence. You were victimized twofold: first by being exposed to traumatic experiences and later when you were forced to commit them and then be blamed and stigmatized for the atrocities you've committed. You cannot forgive yourself. Society also refuses to forgive you. That's why you need them, isn't it? Duo and Relena. They see beyond all that. They see things in you others don't... they accept you in ways only they can. You hold onto them both because that's the only way you can live with the choices you were forced to make. Isn't it?"

Dr. Sloan's face was suddenly hovering over him. He blinked, startled, and looked up into the man's sharp eyes.

"I'm right, aren't I?" the doctor insisted sternly; "Tell me, Heero, can I stop quoting textbooks now? Did I _crack the code_? Figured you out? Is your need to justify everything with hard cold reason finally satisfied? Are you finally convinced that you need me?"

"Don't answer that," Duo warned, but Heero was no longer inclined to listen. He looked at Sloan, gaping dully at the face that promised him what he could only dream of... and nodded his head slowly.

Dr. Sloan smiled, pleased.

"Good," he said softly and turned to circle around the chair, securing the electrodes to Heero's naked body as he went along.

"Growing up as a child-soldier," he explained casually as he ran cold fingers over the adhesive tape of one electrode, "you were forced to violate your own moral principles and to break from any social attachment," he continued and stood next to Heero's open legs. He released his captive's feet from the stirrups.

"You don't know how to reach out," he continued as he propped Heero's legs up on the chair more comfortably. Heero let out a small sigh of relief. Dr. Sloan readjusted the reclining chair so that he was lying down again, legs closed. The man secured his ankles to the bottom part of the chair, restraining his feet while he continued his speech:

"You could never truly connect to either Relena or Duo, nor did you want to. You took whatever you needed from each one, ever the pragmatic soldier. You kept bouncing between them as you deemed necessary, because that way the relationship was never really validated, never final, and you still reaped the benefits.

"You kept your distance... you still do. That's why you refer to her as _'Her'_. Not because _he_ used to call her that out of contempt, but because it makes it less personal, makes it easier for you to stay angry with her if she's just a _'Her'_ and not the person you fell in love with for so many reasons. And as for Duo... you let him get away. He did most of the work for you, and you let him. You never tried to bridge over the distance between the two of you, not then and not now when you need him even more to keep strong.

"In the end, you let them both go because you never truly wanted to seal the deal with either. You were afraid of losing the advantage of having them both. To lose the person who made you weak, human, and the person who made you strong, the soldier. That's why you won't make the choice, Heero. That's why you're still lost as you ever were."

Tears flooded Heero's eyes as he listened helplessly to the man's analysis of the deepest secrets ruling his soul. He watched Sloan numbly as the man circled back towards the ECT machine. The man began prepping it for another session and Heero just stared through tearful eyes, unable to care enough to protest against the torture that was to come.

"It was easier to reenlist... stay the unfeeling soldier," Sloan accused, flipping a switch; "to stay the person you've always shown others, but we both know that this isn't what you want." He turned to Heero, scowling grimly.

"You never wanted to be the soldier. You were _forced_ into it. What you really want is to reintegrate. You want peace, acceptance and love... the kind of love you couldn't even get from your own mother. You seek the kind of love you've felt as Heero, only you want to be loved as Seiki... to just be _you_... at least, whatever you believe that person should have been if you'd been given the chance to live normally."

Sloan concluded by shoving the mouth-guard into Heero's mouth. Heero didn't fight it. He moaned meekly, turning his head the other way. He closed his eyes, bracing himself as the machine whirred to life. The electric currents washed over him slowly at first, just a low tingling sensation as they built up to a more intense blaze, though not as painful as before. There was no agony, just... dim pain.

"Tell me, Heero," Sloan's voice cut through the unpleasant stinging; "has Relena's role in Elizabeth's death ruled her out as a choice?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Heero shook his head 'no'. Tears streamed freely down his pale and bristly face.

"And has what happened at the museum ruled Duo out because he's a man?" Sloan pressed on.

Again he shook his head, crying silently.

Sloan deactivated the machine and Heero slumped into the chair mutely. He opened his eyes, turning to Sloan. The man was leaning over him, studying him closely.

"You have to decide which one of them can save you," the doctor whispered gently. He reached a hand to take the mouth-guard out. "I know you're afraid that if you let one of them down, then he or she would leave you for good," he whispered sympathetically and reached under the reclined chair, drawing out a folded gray wool blanket. He spread it open and covered Heero's naked body. He turned to him, smiling softly. Heero looked up at him with thankful, tear-bleary, eyes. He was so grateful to feel covered, warm... secured...

"You take great comfort knowing that you're loved by both of them," the man continued; "you're afraid to lose that... to lose the people who define who you are and go back to being that unloved little boy named Seiki. That's why you still go by your codename. As 'Heero', you are loved. 'Seiki' was never loved, and that's what you're truly afraid of. You have to conquer that fear. You have to let one of them down, Heero. Let go. Choose."

"I can't..." Heero croaked weakly, weeping like a child; "I... I need them both... why can't I have both!" he wailed brokenly, looking up at Sloan like a son seeking his father's guidance. The man smiled at him tenderly. He caressed Heero's forehead gently, pushing sweaty, tear-soaked bangs out of the young man's eyes.

"Because they don't want to share you, Heero," Sloan whispered, petting Heero's hair soothingly. "They can't... and you shouldn't expect them to. You have to choose. It's the only way you'll ever be whole. You'll never come to terms with who you are if you continue splitting yourself between the two of them."

"I can't..." Heero cried, shaking his head in denial; "I can't... can't choose... I... I need... need them both... I can't choose... please... just end this... please... don't make me choose... I can't..."

Sloan continued petting his hair gently, leaning over him like a loving father. "There's redemption in death, Heero," he said softly, "but not for you. Death is too easy... you've been ready for it your whole life. I cannot kill you, it won't accomplish anything. So just... choose," he whispered into Heero's ear softly, "and it will all be over."

Sloan pulled back, smiling warmly at his patient. He reached for the instruments' tray and picked up a glass of water. He brought the drink to Heero's mouth, spilling a few blissful drops over his chapped lips. Heero licked his lips, accepting the relieving dampness with gratitude. Sloan allowed him a few small sips and took the glass away.

"I'm afraid our time is up," he said, glancing at his wristwatch. "Lunchtime is almost over... I have to get back to the office." He picked up a syringe and a medicine vial from the tray and turned back to Heero, preparing the shot.

"We've made a lot of progress in this session," he stated as he injected more of the Magic drug into the IV bag. "I think that by the time I return, you'd be able to make your choice," he said, looking down at Heero's tearful face; "Christmas Day might turn out to be your lucky day after all..." he added with a sick smile, caressing Heero's hair softly.

"Can you do that for me, Heero? Will you think about it? Will you choose a path to redemption?"

Heero stared at him mutely for a moment, before nodding his head in compliance. He closed his eyes sadly, more tears squeezing out and soaking his unshaven cheeks.

"Good," Sloan approved and placed the empty syringe back on the tray. "Then I look forward to tonight," he said and turned to leave the room, leaving Heero to lie in darkness, contemplating his final choice.

*     *     *

 


	12. SSRI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Typed characters appeared rapidly on a computer screen:

 

**HEERO YUY – EVALUATION & MANAGEMENT:**

**CC:** 24-year-old male seen regularly for PTSD induced depression and anxiety. No indication of SI/HI [[i]]. Patient displays increasing distress over the past 2 months, related to the upcoming holiday season, marking the anniversary of many trauma-related events. Patient experiences intermittent, severe and uncontrolled anxiety lasting between a few minutes to an hour. Instigating stressors include work-related stress and unresolved interpersonal relationships. Patient reports severe sadness, loss of appetite, renewal of heavy smoking, drinking, increased aggressiveness, lack of concentration and mild forgetfulness.

**History of Present Illness:**

Heero has experienced severe early attachment disruptions: he was often left unprotected by his caregivers and has never been adequately nurtured during his early childhood. In response to his mother's emotional abuse, Heero began to dissociate, and by the age of three, depersonalization had left him unable to cry. Secretly, he hated his mother, and upon her death when Heero was about six, he felt no grief or sadness.

Further trauma has developed during preadolescence years following involuntary recruitment as a child-soldier in the colony rebel militia. Repeated exposure to chronic and traumatic stress during development in a brutal military environment has left Heero with many mental deficiencies, notably PTSD, psychiatric distress and malfunctioning, expressed as outward aggression, irritation, dissociation and acting out of intrusions (flashbacks).

As an adult, given the unresolved disorganization in his attachment relationship with his mother, exacerbated by his difficult personal history serving under the militia, Heero has developed many personal and relational barriers. A subconscious desire for female nurturing has developed as means of compensation, but was never fully resolved despite a significant relationship formed with a female counterpart. Hindered by an acute fear to articulate and divulge his problematic past, Heero is unable to fully realize this relationship, fearing that full disclosure will put it at risk. Hence, the relationship remains undefined; it seems unclear whether Heero's interest in this woman is romantic, sexual or simply a friendship he relies on for security, affection and comfort.

Early attachment disruptions and war-related severe stress and traumatic experiences that came later on have shattered Heero's most fundamental beliefs about safety, trust, and self-esteem, which lend instability and psychological incoherence to his internal and external worlds, notably affecting his ability to trust and connect to people. This could better explain his inability to establish a permanent and validated romantic relationship. He is guided by a fear that discussions about his past could make others feel abhorred, guilty or sad, causing a variety of general relational disruptions, fortifying his reluctance to disclose and connect.

Environmental influences seem to have played a significant role in Heero's sexual orientation and development. Although sexual orientation is determined by many genetic, hormonal, developmental, social, and cultural factors, less gendered socialization in early childhood and preadolescence may shape subsequent same-sex romantic preference. In addition to attraction, opportunity has to present itself. Growing up in a strictly male environment during preadolescence years, favoritism for distinctly impetuous, harsh and demanding male company has developed, manifesting in homosexual relations with a fellow comrade during adolescent years, but never pursued since. Nevertheless, Heero says that he doesn't rule out future homosexual relationships.

Heero's socialization experiences might have shaped this desire, but not his consequent adult sexual orientation. His sexual identity remains unresolved and this lack of clear sexual orientation manifests in bisexual tendencies. There's also indication of aggressive sexual behavior, common among sexually and emotionally abused males. The fact that Heero has experienced male-on-male sexual assault as a preteen, as well as rape a year ago, is crucial to this analysis. A diagnosis of Rape Trauma Syndrome is inconclusive at this point, since symptoms overlap with active and established PTSD, although RTS could have played a part in Heero's major PTSD relapse in AC 202. His aggressive sexual tendencies were intensified as an attempt to reestablish normalcy of sexual experience and regain control after experiencing sexual assault.

Cultural stereotypes associating victimization with femininity and norms of male socialization have forced Heero to deny or minimize his past experiences of victimization and their subsequent pain and suffering, thus exacerbating symptoms and hampering recovery. Additionally, history of violence and continuous exposure to it has impaired Heero's reintegration into society. An extensive mental health treatment is necessary for rehabilitation, yet Heero refused to seek treatment before AC 202 and only sought it upon his daughter's death. He admits to have cried for the first time when he realized that he was about to lose his daughter during the DC Incident. News of her accidental death two weeks later has elicited severe emotional distress, physically manifested in congestive heart failure during hospitalization for extensive injuries suffered during the DC Incident.

Following his daughter's untimely and tragic death, Heero was overtaken with grief and finally obliged his superiors' request to seek counseling under the care of Dr. D. Wright at Preventer North American HQ.

As noted in Wright's notes, pathological patterns of defective parenting displayed by his caregivers have passed down trans-generationally to Heero. He was unable to provide consistent care because he had never received it himself, and chose to disassociate from his daughter's life (same might apply to romantic and sexual relationships). He resented being forced into fatherhood, which clashed with subconscious desires from early childhood, resulting in self-hatred regarding his conflicted aversion from parenthood.

Hence, the moment of his daughter's death was cataclysmic, precipitating distorted reasoning, overwhelming of the nervous system, dissociation, and a conditioned fear response. Aversive stimuli (self-hatred and terror) were paired with a neutral stimulus (seasonal changes typical of the holidays) and dissociated procedural memories are now regularly triggered in December, bringing back an array of traumatic events associated directly or indirectly with the holiday season.

Heero reenacts the original death of his mother, as well as of his daughter, by breaking up any personal ties he had formed at the time. His increased aggressiveness and apathy around the time of the dissociative episodes is subconsciously utilized to ensure this breakup. Additionally, Heero experiences traumatic reenactment somatically in the form of severe insomnia and addictive tendencies (smoking, drinking), and behaviorally in the form of intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, severe panic disorder and uncontrollable reenactments.

On a side note: a pre-existing conditioned fear response has also been observed and reported by the patient, who is aware of his programming but is helpless against it. Conditioned since childhood to respond to the sound his superior's metal-clawed hand, Heero reacts to the creaking sound of a metal claw opening and closing with irrational, paralyzing fear which elicits total obedience. The conditioned fear coincides substantially with active PTSD and anxiety disorder. Extinction of CFR requires an additional treatment plan to help rid patient from current programming. Further TR treatment could aid in actively unlearning the fear.

Heero's ongoing depressive symptoms include generally feeling down with anhedonia – nothing is ever enjoyable. Symptoms worsen as the holidays approach. Heero has had difficulty falling asleep for the past two months. This has significantly decreased his total sleep time and lead to daytime fatigue and deterioration of cognitive function. He admits a recent change in appetite and poor concentration. Despite past suicide attempts he claims that he has no future suicide plans. Although he no longer actively seeks it, Heero still views death as a welcomed release and will no longer fight for survival.

Dr. Wright had prescribed medication to battle PTSD, depression, anxiety and insomnia symptoms, yet a psychological treatment plan was never implemented. It is the firm belief of this therapist that only full and uninhibited disclosure would lead to an effective treatment plan. Even delayed disclosure will serve to moderate mental illness symptoms and reduce the likelihood of further victimization. Though many barriers to disclosure exist in multiple domains, an initial treatment plan has been established and implemented to dissolve these barriers.

**Treatment Plan – Reevaluation:**

Given the patient's complex HPI, a successful trea—

 

The typing stopped. A knock on the door drew Dr. Sloan's attention from his computer monitor. He looked up at his office door. The clock on the wall above it showed 15:00 PM and the date display read December 25. The door opened, drawing his attention again, and Relena Darlian peeked inside.

"Doctor?" she asked hesitantly, her eyes searching the room until she found him. She opened the door further and stood at the doorway. "Is this a bad time?"

"Senator Darlian," Dr. Sloan greeted and minimized the word processor window. Getting up, he gestured her to enter. "Please – come in."

Relena nodded gratefully and stepped into the spacious office, closing the door behind her.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here today," she admitted apologetically. The older man took off his golden-framed eyeglasses and wiped them clean with a flannel cloth resting in a case on his desk. He seemed just as tired as she felt.

"I can't say the wife is happy about it," he muttered, sighing; "but work comes first, I'm afraid." He placed his glasses back on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, and looked sharply at Relena.

The young senator smiled back halfheartedly. "Yes... I know what that's like," she mumbled and Sloan nodded in understanding. He gestured at the sofa by the window.

"Please, have a seat," he offered. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please," she mumbled and settled on the sofa. She turned to look out the large panoramic window overlooking Lower Manhattan. Most of the city was hidden in thick white fog. It was a snowy Christmas Day, quite rare for New York City. It was beautiful.

There was a tea set on the coffee table between the sofa and Dr. Sloan's chair. He poured her a steaming cup, added some sugar and handed her the beverage. She looked at the teacup pensively for a moment, before nodding in thanks and accepting the drink. The hesitant pause was a stupid habit. Ever since she had been duped by terrorist drugging her cup of tea all those years ago, during the Marimeia Uprising, she has had some difficulty accepting tea from strangers. Heero had taught her what kind of warning signs she should look for – promising that if she followed his teaching she'd reduce the risk by at least 75% –but the hesitation always remained. She did her best to ignore it, giving people the benefit of the doubt even though she knew Heero would consider that as sheer foolishness. Well, he was the one to talk! Heero had walked knowingly into a trap laid out for him by some psychopath...

She sighed and leaned back into the sofa, taking a small sip, testing the beverage and waiting to see if it would cause any suspicious reactions. She could feel Dr. Sloan's scrutinizing gaze. Being a trained observer of human behavior, she had no doubt that he was already taking mental notes about her wary mannerism.

"What can I do for you?" he asked kindly nonetheless.

She placed the cup of tea on the table and slumped tiredly against the sofa, looking down at her lap. She straightened a few folds creasing her tailored pants, running her hand over them nervously a couple of times.

"I was thinking I might take you up on that offer," she finally said and turned to look out the window; "...to talk."

"Of course," he agreed compassionately; "What's on your mind?"

She ironed the wrinkles on her dress pants again, staring at them numbly while searching for words.

"I assume that you're up to speed regarding the Redeemer investigation?" she finally asked, looking up at the doctor.

He nodded in confirmation. "Yes, of course," he said; "Agent Shaw was here this morning. Is this about last night's call?"

She bowed her head down again, unable to look him in the eye. "You've heard?"

"Only that there was another call," Sloan elaborated; "Any luck with the trace?"

She shook her head. "Nothing yet," she exhaled with a sigh. "We're still waiting."

"I see."

For a while, Relena stared quietly at her black high heel shoes. They were her favorite pair, the most comfortable of all her shoes. She noted that the leather at the tip was beginning to wear, it was gray and faded. She will have to throw them away soon...

"What did Heero say?" Sloan's careful question interrupted her trivial musing. She looked up, studying the man quietly for a moment. He had the pleasant, trustworthy face of an intellectual, well-read, scholar. His features seemed harmless, demure, if not for the hard, calculated and well-reserved look in his eyes. He looked like someone who's been exposed to a fair share of horrors, not surprising considering he treated Preventer agents on a regular basis. He was probably well-versed in many complex and sensitive issues the agents around him dealt with, which put him in a unique position to help. She wondered if Heero had made the same assessment when he first started meeting with Sloan. It had taken him a long while to cooperate with Dr. Wright back in DC, but eventually the man had gained Heero's trust. It must have been hard for him to change psychiatrists. She had a feeling that Sloan has never enjoyed the trust and compliance Heero had offered Wright. Still, she hoped that he had been willing to help, as much as Heero had let him.

"I'm sure that being Heero's therapist you know things," she finally spoke; "and I'm aware of doctor-patient confidentiality," she added somberly and fixed her firm blue eyes on Sloan; "but there's also a matter of national security, so before I say anything, I need to know... how much you know."

Dr. Sloan leaned back into his leather chair, crossed his legs and nodded sternly. "If you're talking about DC," he said, looking at her firmly; "then I know."

Relena nodded in understanding. She cast her gaze back down.

"I'm also aware of a few more personal issues..." Sloan continued more softly; "as I'm sure you've taken under advisement when you came here."

She nodded again, staring at her shoes. "Yes," she mumbled. "I figured that much." She looked up at him again. "I hope this means that Heero talked to you. That he... that he was at least... trying, that he hasn't given up yet."

"You know I can't comment about that," Sloan reminded her gently. "But please... what's on your mind, Senator?"

Relena inhaled a deep, shaky breath, mustering the strength to speak.

"I knew they did horrible things to him, but..." she paused, shaking her head helplessly; "God..." she moaned, burying her face in both hands; "I can't even say it..."

Sloan waited patiently. She sniffled quietly and looked up, resting her hands down on her lap again. Her bright blue eyes shone with tears.

"Last night... he... he told me... he..." Her tears overflowed and she closed her eyes sadly, carefully wiping the lingering drops from her mascara-enhanced eyelashes. She exhaled shakily, struggling to keep talking. She couldn't bear to look at the doctor, so she kept staring at her shoes through tearful, blurry, eyes.

"They... they raped him..." she whispered brokenly; "He... he never... I didn't know."

Sloan nodded grimly. "Male rape is the least reported type of crime," he informed her; "The shame is too great. Most cases go unreported."

Relena looked up again. "You mean you didn't know?" she asked fearfully, tormented by the idea that she has revealed something Heero hadn't been willing to share even with his therapist. She couldn't shake off the dreadful feeling that she was betraying him by speaking to Sloan.

"I'm not at liberty to say," the doctor replied quietly. "But I am not surprised," he added, maybe just to soothe her anxiety for exposing such a private wound. Now the whole damn CID probably knew about it, or at least the people involved in the case and in charge of tapping her phone. How could he possibly look them in the eye again? That is, if he ever came back alive...

Relena bowed her head down sadly, wiping the rest of her tears away.

"I don't think he even told Doctor Wright," she admitted; "and he... Heero had really opened up to him. I... I don't know where he would be if not for that man."

Sloan nodded grimly; his expression was stony, unreadable all of a sudden.

"Why do you think the Redeemer wanted Heero to tell you about the rape?" he asked and Relena turned to gaze out the window again. It was snowing.

"I don't know..." she mumbled quietly, on the verge of tears; "to hurt me perhaps?" she ventured a guess; "Maybe to hurt Heero by hurting me..." She bowed her head down sadly. "Maybe it's a part of his game... Maybe he was trying to scare Heero into thinking I'd leave him if I knew... that I'd be appalled by him. He begged me not to leave him... kept apologizing... God... He thinks he's at fault..." she wept, shaking her head miserably. "Why would he think that I'd... He knows me better than that..."

Sloan listened quietly, giving her time to compose herself.

"Heero didn't want to say it..." Relena added in a shaky whisper; "That psycho tortured the words out of him... But he should have told me. He shouldn't have had to hurt alone... he should have known I'd..." she sighed and bowed her head down, shaking it. "After all this time he still believes he has to keep things from me... that I won't be able to handle his horrors." She looked up at Sloan again, smiling hopelessly. "But the truth is I've been handling them for almost ten years now... he just doesn't realize it."

Sloan nodded thoughtfully. Relena cast her gaze back down, sighing.

"Have you told Duo?" the doctor asked after some time.

Relena looked up, mortified. She shook her head firmly. "No... God, no... I don't even know where he is. He took off yesterday. The wait made him a little crazy... He never struck me as the sitting-around-and-waiting kind of guy. He differs from Heero in so many ways..."

"And once you'll find him, will you tell him about the call?"

"I have to tell him," she said decisively; "But I can't tell him what Heero said. I'm not even sure I should have told you..." She heaved a weary sigh and leaned back into the sofa. She began fumbling with her fingers.

"Duo has a certain image of Heero in his head... I can't be the one to ruin that. Heero would never forgive me," she explained.

"What kind of image?" Sloan questioned carefully.

She shrugged helplessly. "One that keeps his love alive... one that he keeps telling himself is the real thing. It's something that helps him cope with losing Heero to me, I guess. Keeps him going... Makes him feel worthier of Heero... I can't take that away. Duo has convinced himself that he's the only one who really _sees_ Heero... the only one who truly understands him."

"And you disagree?"

"No... not entirely," she sighed; "I'm sure that there are sides of Heero only someone like Duo could understand," she reasoned, staring numbly at her fingers. "There are things Heero has probably shown only to him... sides of him only Duo knows... but there are also things he only shows me."

"What kind of things?"

She sighed forlornly. "Fragile things... things he can't show anyone else," she mumbled; "I think he was also trying to keep that perfect image in Duo's head. It... It helped him keep strong, somehow. He saw his strong side in Duo and his... his weakness in me. He divided his demons between the two of us, never really dealing with anything all the way through. It's his way of avoiding the real issue..."

"Which is?" Sloan arched an eyebrow.

Relena cast her gaze down again, exhaling sadly. "How to live with himself... facing his flaws and strengths, his sins and virtues as a whole... Coming to terms with who he is... I think he'd rather surrender to the darkness inside of him than try to understand it. Duo calls it his 'ugly'... I guess that's true. There's a lot of ugliness to accept... but there's a lot of beautiful too. I think that's why Duo feels resentful towards me... for robbing him of a chance to see it for himself."

"That is very insightful of you," Sloan agreed; "Bouncing between the two of you was his way of coping and with Duo out of the picture..."

"I wasn't enough," she concluded, sighing. "Yes... I know. It was like he had lost a part of himself. Only the fragile remained... eating away at him. I couldn't keep him strong. I broke him..."

"And you believe Duo can save him?"

Her eyes watered again and she sniffled quietly, fighting back the tears. "I hope so..." she mumbled and took a deep breath, struggling to compose herself. She turned to face the window and gazed at it thoughtfully for a long while.

"He should have told me about the rape..." she moaned sorrowfully, still facing the window; "It wouldn't have made him any uglier... not to me. He shouldn't have had to deal with that pain alone." She turned back to Sloan, her shoulders slumping tiredly. "It would have saddened me, but I wouldn't have been appalled."

"Maybe he was trying to keep a certain image in your head as well," the doctor suggested softly. "Perhaps he feared he'd tarnish the purity of that image if he told you about the rape."

"He did what he had to do to keep Lizzie alive... I can only love him for it more, never less." She cast her gaze down sadly, sighing. "Maybe he was too angry with me to talk... too hurt. After we lost Elizabeth he... he pulled away... more than ever. I let him... I never insisted that he'd talk to me... I let him slip away."

The doctor's expression softened with compassion. "You felt you deserved it," he said; "that's understandable. You were both hurting."

She nodded, sniffling, and wiped away her tears.

Sloan bent forward, offering her a tissue. "Do you still love him, Relena?" he asked as he leaned back into his seat.

She nodded, sniffling, wiping the smeared mascara under her eyes. "With all my heart..." she mumbled despairingly; "I know I shouldn't... I've always known that I'd be better off if I moved on, but... my heart never listened to reason. Not when it comes to Heero."

Dr. Sloan nodded thoughtfully. "We like to believe that it's our hearts that choose for us, but the heart is just an organ pumping blood," he said; "Love is in the brain," he explained; "it's all about chemical reactions and brain mechanisms that shape our minds since prehistoric times."

"You sound just like him..." Relena muttered; "Heero's need for constant reasoning always drove me _nuts_ ," she sighed; "he never could just surrender to impulse... not with me, at least. Not since the war ended."

Sloan smiled respectfully, nodding. "Sexual desire also stems from the brain," he explained; "it is often the first step towards romantic love, but not necessarily," he added. "The sex-drive, romantic love and attachment are primal mechanisms that have evolved to motivate us to seek sexual union, reproduce, focus on a certain partner and stick with him or her long enough to raise a child."

"You're talking about a healthy human being," she interjected; "a _normal_ person. There is nothing normal about Heero."

"Perhaps," Sloan agreed; "But the same set of rules always apply. Heero's past experiences may be abnormal, but his reactions to them fall well within the boundary of what one would expect them to be. Heero is only human, and none of us can fight chemistry. Romantic love – that intense energy we devote to focus our attention and cravings on a certain partner – is associated with high dopamine levels in the brain. And since elevated dopamine levels also rise when experiencing thrill, danger and hyperactivity, it's quite often that we find ourselves falling in love with someone we've experienced those sensations with."

"Like combat," she deduced, sighing. "That was something he experienced with Duo... not with me."

"And that might explain his strong attachment to Duo," the doctor suggested; "but I am talking about you, why _you_ fell in love with whom you believe is the _wrong person_."

"I fell for him just because he _thrilled_ me?"

"Initially, yes," he agreed; "Falling in love affects our brains just as an acute cocaine injection would, and it's just as addictive. You were hooked... and you still are. Much like recovered addicts, you'll always crave this drug."

Relena scoffed dismissively. "Your approach is certainly more clinical than my regular therapist," she remarked, amused. "Are all psychiatrists like that?"

Dr. Sloan smiled politely. "We might differ from psychologists, yes."

"So what possible reason Heero had to fall for me? I certainly wasn't as thrilling as Duo. I wasn't as dangerous... not even close."

"Thrill doesn't necessarily entail danger," Sloan pointed out; "given Heero's complex history, it's not surprising that he could find even the most benign to be stimulating... especially the benign, even. Rest assured that he has his reasons for loving you. You've offered him a lot, Relena, I assure you, but I cannot discuss it. I've already said too much."

She nodded in understanding. "Yes, of course," she mumbled. "It doesn't matter anyway... he fell out of love with both of us."

"That's also chemical," Sloan explained; "You shouldn't blame yourself," he added. "You see, low serotonin levels are crucial in enabling the brain to produce high dopamine levels, which help us fall in love and maintain our attachment to a single person long enough to psychologically attach."

She looked at him, frowning.

"Some researchers maintain that taking serotonin-enhancing antidepressants – such as the SSRI scripts he's been on for quite some time – can potentially dampen feelings of romantic love and attachment. The medication that keeps him stable and functioning may very well have jeopardized his ability to fall in love and maintain a stable, long-term partnership."

"It sounds rather simplistic," she groused.

"Sex, love and attachment are just another motivational drive system in our brains," Sloan justified; "a mechanism designed to ensure the continuation of the species. We enjoy making more out of it, but in the end that's all it is... chemical reactions and interactions."

"I refuse to believe that," she insisted.

"Most people do... but fact remains that the three distinct yet interrelated brain systems for courtship, mating, reproduction and parenting can become active in any sequence: Some suddenly fall in love with someone they've had casual sex with, some begin their relationship with feelings of friendship and attachment that metamorphoses into romantic passion and some can even feel deep attachment for a long-term spouse while they feel romantic passion for someone else and even while they feel sexual attraction for an array of others. It's a very flexible system of complex mechanisms, which is why these dynamic interactions are affected by any medication that changes the chemical checks and balances in the brain. Half of the population is on some kind of serotonin-enhancing antidepressants... One must bear in mind the broad and possibly deleterious effects of these medications."

"And you do?" she asked, concerned. "You're the one who prescribed him with the medication he's been on. Are you saying that you're the one to blame that he cannot love me?" she taunted, smiling weakly.

Sloan smiled back, recognizing the good-hearted humor. "That's one way of looking at it," he joked; "but like I said... Heero's case is a bit more complicated than that. I can't discuss it, although I assure you that we are... were... working through it. The prescriptions he's on are necessary at this stage of the treatment."

She nodded in understanding. Heaving a despaired sigh, she turned to look out the window again. "Do you think he'll ever be capable of loving again?" she whispered sadly.

"That depends on whether or not he'll be able to recover from his depression."

She nodded pensively, still staring outside. "And then he'll finally choose?" She turned back to face Sloan.

"Could be," he said; "It's up to him," he reminded her; "Are you still waiting for him to choose, Relena?"

"I'm always waiting for him..." she murmured, casting her eyes down sadly.

"And if he chooses Duo?"

She stared at her hands, fumbling with her fingers again. "Actually... I'm hoping he would..."

"Why is that?"

Relena turned back to face the window. She watched the snow quietly for a moment before giving her reply: "Because Duo will keep him strong... keep him safe. He won't need medication... he'll have his _drug_ , as you call it. He'll have Duo and... He'll live... love... again..." she mumbled, gazing outside wretchedly. "Duo won't let him break like I did..."

Dr. Sloan nodded gravely and leaned back into his chair. He pushed his golden eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose, concealing a knowing smile.

*     *     *

Duo's small hotel room was a mess. Clothes, linens and pillows lay discarded on the brown-carpeted floor, along with empty beer bottles and snack-wrappers. A chair had been tossed aside in a tantrum, one of its legs now broken. In a late afternoon hour, the room stood silent and empty; not a trace of its demolisher. Outside the large window by the bed, the sun was setting behind a forest of skyscrapers, painting the usually gloomy and cloudy skies with softer, warmer, hues.

The bathroom door was wide open. A column of bright fluorescent light tumbled onto the floor, cutting through the darkness ruling the rest of the hotel room. Duo stood in front of the polished dark-wood vanity, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. His long hair was badly disheveled; his braid almost completely loose. His unshaven features were pale and distraught; his eyes wide, red and puffy... haunted and hollow. He stared harshly at his mirror-image, lips pressed tightly.

He stood wearing a pair of black jeans and naked from the waist up. His taut, muscular chest was just the right amount of hairy. It heaved up and down with his panting, angry, breath. The silver cross pendant he wore from a chain around his neck rested over the center of his nude chest. Both his fists were clenched as he stood leaning forward against the bathroom vanity, staring at his reflection in the eye. He was clutching a pair of scissors in his right hand.

He had trashed his hotel room in a fit of blind rage his shrink would probably blame on what she liked to call his destructive _Outer Child_ : a brutal manifestation of all of his unresolved heartbreak, loss and abandonment issues. According to her, those issues made for a perfect breeding ground to this so-called _complex_. She had babbled on and on about this damn _child_ until Duo even named him – Outer. And Outer's primary role was to defend against the insecurity and fear seeping out of the many wounds bleeding in his soul. His most automatic, knee-jerking defense mechanisms – especially the maladaptive ones – were driven by this out-of-control child.

Outer took everything to the extreme: sleeping, watching TV, drinking, spending money, cluttering, procrastinating, fucking... whatever. Nothing was ever moderate, which was why he could barely recall leaving the church after that horrendous phone call and returning to the hotel where he had apparently wracked his room. He only remembered how drained he felt afterwards, once Outer retreated and left him facing the mess he had made, as always.

If Dr. Gavin would have seen him right now, she'd probably freak out and re-prescribe him with an array of antipsychotic agents, antidepressants and mood stabilizers. She insisted that in order to break his most deeply entrenched self-defeating patterns, he must heal his _"abandonment wounds"_ , but he refused to participate in her psychoanalyzing- _bullshit_ -quest to _"heal his soul"_ , so the meds had to suffice. He had promised that he'd take whatever she prescribed, but he had stopped taking the pills soon enough, resenting the mind-numbing effects of the medication. He would rather risk the destructive effect of his condition than lose his mind to the dullness of some psychoactive drug or another. They were supposed to keep his Borderline Personality Disorder in check – to make him feel stable and in control of his emotions, perceptions, thinking and behavior – but he didn't like the way the SSRIs dulled everything... taking away the extreme. He didn't feel like himself when his senses were numbed and everything mellowed down to this _boring_ , monotonous existence in which nothing mattered anymore. He preferred the pain, the rage... the danger of walking a fine line between sanity and madness.

He considered BPD to be a blessing in disguise. Impulsivity and instability were his way of life; they've helped him through the war, keeping him alive by keeping him on his toes, focusing all of his attention and energy on achieving his goals. He rolled with the punches, always playing hardball, because that was the only way he could justify living, no matter how much it hurt. He was aware that BPD was probably why he was so fucking obsessed with Heero, idolizing a man who had done nothing but hurt and abandon him... causing him more stress and grief than elevation. BPD could do that, he was told, and he feared that if he took the meds Gavin prescribed him, his feelings for Heero would change. And as much as he often longed to rid himself of this _insane_ and unhealthy obsession over a guy who had disappointed him in the cruelest way by taking him for granted, he could not live without the hope of patching things up with Heero one day, so... no meds.

The only time he was willing to take a damn prescription was back when Joe died and he had trouble getting back to work. He wanted Gavin to give him something for the anxiety, but she refused to prescribe him with any anxiolytic medication, claiming that antianxiety agents clashed with the other drugs he had already been prescribed. Apparently, combining the two types of medication has a poisonous effect on the mind and body. It didn't matter that he assured her again and again that he wasn't taking any other damn drugs – foolishly admitting to neglecting to take the SSRIs she herself had prescribed – but she refused to risk it. Stupid bitch; no wonder he went straight back into the habit, turning to illegal substances again. Joe would have been furious... but he was dead.

Soon Heero would be dead too. There was only one day left before Christmas was over and they'd reach the Redeemer's deadline... and it was pretty damn obvious who Heero was going to choose.

Last night's phone call still echoed in Duo's ear. Heero's aggrieved, gasping cries to Relena kept playing in his head in an endless loop. The blatant shame in Heero's voice, the uninhibited fears of her abhor and abandonment laced into his terrified weeping... they all twisted and knotted inside of him, wrenching his heart, crushing it. He couldn't stop thinking about it. In his pain, Heero had turned to Relena – to the only person who's been there for him constantly through the years. It was only natural, logical. Duo had no right to complain. He was nowhere around for the past eight years, foolishly waiting for the problem to either resolve itself or go away; _stupidly_ believing that Heero was still untouchable, unbreakable. But just because _he_ hadn't been able to breach past the fortified walls Heero had built didn't mean that in over eight years they won't go tumbling down anyway. God knows that he had had his fair share of meltdowns over those past eight years, suffering heartaches over things he had sworn to never again to experience, yet he had let himself get attached anyway: to Joe, to Tomás, Father Dixon... even God.

The Church he had shunned for years became important again somewhere along the way, right along with the God it represented and a controversial old man who claimed to be representing that God. Duo had thought that he had lost his faith on the charred steps of the Maxwell Church decades ago, but at some point between the end of the war and life on L2, the faith Father Maxwell had so desperately tried to bestow upon him has found him again. He would have liked to blame it on Dixon, but that would be wrong. Dixon never tried to force his faith on him; the old man was just trying to atone for whatever sins he felt he must have committed against Father Maxwell, the Sisters and the children, when leaving the church mere days before the massacre. It was a classic case of survivor's guilt. Dixon took him under his wing when he returned to L2 because it was the only way to make up for choosing the road not taken by Father Maxwell. Come to think of it, maybe – like Dixon – all he really wanted to was to make it up to Father Maxwell too...

They said that there were no atheists in foxholes; that all soldiers in combat were _"converted"_ under fire, yet Duo didn't find his faith during wartime. While most people tended to seek a divine power when facing an extreme threat, he had plunged into it head-first, fearing nothing because he didn't believe in some _Deity_ that would deliver retribution. His new life on L2 changed that. The scum he saw on the street as a cop made him turn his eyes up to the heavens in hopes to find something purer... something good to contrast all the bad. Thus faith was ignited.

Joe was a firm believer (for all the good that had done him...). Perhaps he had spent too many hours sitting in an unmarked patrol car with his partner, talking for hours on end because there was nothing better to do during a stakeout, until the ranting started to make sense. Joe was ex-military. He had seen enough horrors to make anyone turn a blind eye to God, yet the gruesome experience of war didn't destroy his faith, only made it stronger. There was something very comforting about Joe's faith, something irresistible he had grown attached to despite himself. It was hard not to get attached to Joe. The older man had taken him into his home, made him feel part of the family. He had busted his ass out of trouble on the streets in and out of work-hours. He had bailed him out of bad dates with _scums_ and _pervs_ he _really_ shouldn't have messed with while being too high to handle it; he had forced him to kick the habit and dragged his sorry ass back onto the wagon whenever he had slipped and returned to doing drugs. Joe had saved him from an array of bad decisions and nasty situations, keeping him off the path to self-destruction he was always so keen on hurtling into. Losing Joe had been hard... even harder than losing his religion on the steps of a burnt church.

Then there was Tomás... the only pure thing in the swamp of evil that was his life. He did his best to protect that innocent pureness, doing what he could to keep the boy off the streets so he won't be brought into the fold of one street gang or another. He wouldn't exactly call what he had with the boy a relationship _per-say_ – it was more like taking in a stray puppy every now and then – but it was something. Caring for the boy gave him comfort, and very few things did. Failing to save the child from the brutal trauma he had suffered when forced to witness his mother being raped was a sin as unforgivable as his absence from the church on the day of the massacre; just as sinful as failing to get Joe the help he needed on time and just as horrible as failing to get Joe's son, Jesse, out of The Pit on time. Unlike them, Tomás might still be alive, but the horror he bore witness to has scarred him irreparably for life, slowly killing him inside. No matter how hard he tried to intervene on behalf of goodness, it was never enough. Death was still the only deliverance he could offer... the God of Death was all he could ever be.

Duo glared angrily at his reflection, accusation shining hatefully in his cobalt blue eyes. In his mind's eyes, he could see the words that were projected on the screen back at St. Peter's Church: _'Imagine God speaks to you tonight. What are you afraid He might ask you to do?'_

The answer was clear to him now. There was only one way to break the cycle of endless failures and make certain that Heero won't be his next victim, the next person he will fail and leave to die because of his irrefutable inability to come through for the ones he cared about... and that was to step aside. Just like Agent Malone had already said: he had to step out of the court before he dropped the ball... again.

Taking that call had been a mistake. He should have left the playing field when he was told. At least that way he wouldn't have been toyed with again; he wouldn't have been forced to betray Heero by eavesdropping on such a terrible and intimate secret. He had played right into the Redeemer's move, helping the psycho get a step closer to checkmate.

Well, no more. If that's what it would take to save Heero, then he was finally ready to throw in the towel. The ball was in Heero's court now... come what may. He was letting go – of the church, the war, Joe, Heero... everything. He was ready to put himself in God's hands.

Duo clutched the scissors tighter in his hand. His jaw was set and clenched firmly as he reached his other hand up behind his head and grabbed the base of his thick braid. Keeping his hard blue eyes fixed squarely on their reflection in the mirror, Duo raised the scissors up... and began chopping. In less than a dozen seconds, he had sliced through the thick tresses of hair at the base of his neck, serving the long braid from his head. He threw it into the sink.

What remained of his spiky and freshly cut hair swayed forward once he let go. It dangled around his head in long messy layers reaching down to his shoulders, rock-star style. He reached to open the faucet. Using two hands, he cupped some water in his palms and applied it to the mess he had created around his head, slightly dampening the hair. He brushed it back with his fingers, raking them through the thick strands and tucked the hair behind his ears. He then splashed some water on his face, reached for a razor and cream and proceeded shaving the days'-worth of dark stubble bristling his face. Once done, he washed the residue shaving cream off his smooth cheeks and looked at the mirror again. A new person was looking back at him from the other side... but not quite yet.

He gripped the cross dangling over his naked chest and yanked the chain, hard. It snapped, torn from his neck. He threw it into the sink as well. The plain silver cross landed on the snake of hair that used to be his precious braid, now soiled with bristly foam. Lastly, he pulled his cellphone out of his black jeans' pocket and threw it along with the rest. He snatched a black sweater off the hanger behind the door, and stomped out of the bathroom.

*     *     *

The thin strips of light framing the boarded window were gradually dimming. He had been staring at them for what must have been hours, probably since high-noon, because back then they had still glowed brightly. He could barely make out the window frame anymore, but continued staring at it dully with numb, glassy blue eyes; traumatized and dazed, his every nerve frayed. His body felt as deadened as his mind; he lay slumped heavily against the reclined chair, motionless and beat, covered by a coarse gray blanket. Beads of perspiration shone over his pale forehead, a low fever pulsating weakly in his bristly and hollow cheeks.

Left in the darkness, nothing but memories remained. They oozed in slow trickles out of the solid numbness filling his mind. Hazy images dripped along with the drugs leaking into his veins through the IV line: a drop of pink, and then a memory – vague and distorted, but enough to stir him from his eerie semi-aware state. They were spontaneous memories, sporadic and unrelated: like the first time he saw the ocean when descending towards the Earth to commence Operation Meteor – it was so fucking _big_ and _blue_. That was one of many firsts, like the first time he had tasted chocolate when he stole some from a gas-station convenience store in a moment of irrational hunger and despair. It was a pack of Kit-Kat – the first thing he had eaten in days – and it was _so_ _fucking_ _good_ , a reward for surviving through a horrendous week of living on the run from OZ, hiding in the woods injured and hungry, living on hair-trigger reaction only.

He recalled the first time he had fired a gun, closing his eyes tightly when he pulled the trigger. He was little and the pistol was so heavy. The recoil was a shock, he had dropped the gun. Odin barked at him madly, but he didn't cry. He never cried, not even when he had made his first kill. It wasn't easy, but he did it. He did it because Odin told him to. He was a good boy; he did whatever he was told, no matter how difficult. Odin promised that it'll get easier each time, but it never did. It didn't matter. Something inside of him vanished with each kill... until there was nothing left. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing got any easier either. Dr. J broke both his hands, crushing his fingers with his metal claw. There wasn't a bone in his body that hasn't been broken at one point or another. He was then forced to disassemble and reassemble his handgun. It hurt so much... so much... but he did it.

"Do it again," J ordered afterwards, and he did.

"Do it again," he commanded, and he did.

"Again," J said coldly, and he did as told.

He couldn't feel his hands anymore.

"Again."

He disassembled and reassembled the gun until his broken fingers could no long function, and then again and again... till J was satisfied. He was never satisfied...

J wanted him to kill a dog – a puppy. He shot it. It died with a short wail. He watched it die, and felt nothing. Retraining was a success, J declared. He was asked to kill another one, and he did. He did anything J asked him to do. He killed people too... five of them. J said they were traitors to The Cause and he was to be their firing squad, their executioner. He watched them die and felt nothing. J was finally pleased. He told him to clear the bodies. He brought them downstairs to be cremated. One man was still alive. He saw his hand twitch… heard him moaning weakly – he was incinerated _alive!_ He didn't want to watch. The stench of burnt flesh was _awful!_ He could still smell it... always burning in his nostrils. That man was burnt alive! He didn't want to watch... but he had no more will of his own. They took it away, and he couldn't take his eyes of the crematorium as the flames devoured that man alive...

They took everything away in Retraining, but Duo brought some of it back. He must have, because suddenly he wanted Duo... so badly. J wasn't pleased, but the urge was irresistible. That _burn_... it was different than the charred smell always stinging under his nose. It was a _good_ burn... scary, which was good. He felt scared. He _felt_!The burning sensationscorched his chest, growing stronger, wilder... uncontainable. He couldn't fight it... and he took what he wanted. Just once, just that _one_ time... and then the next... and the next... again and again because there was no one there to punish him for it; no one to bark at him if he made a mistake... no one to break his bones as a form of discipline. For once in his life he just... he just took what he wanted.

He remembered their first time, fucking on that ridiculously small and squeaky bed back at St. Gabriel's. That _fire_ had run wild... bursting ferociously out of him until the room was filled with Duo's loud moaning. He had pounded Duo into the bed, moving fiercely like he could never get close enough to his heat. Duo had kicked and he had punched... fists grabbing and tugging at his hair, fingernails raking down his back while he thrashed wildly beneath him. The sound of Duo's hungry cries had drowned all reason... consuming him completely. He was giving someone pleasure, not just pain... it was uncanny, addictive... utterly blissful. They always knew how to show each other a good time... even during the worst of times. Good times and bad kept floating leisurely across the surface of his subconscious, like clouds drifting through the skies.

Blue skies, sparking ocean waves... He suddenly recalled a sunny day spent at a pristine strip of white sandy beach on the crystal clear turquoise blue waters of the North Atlantic Ocean; summertime at the Sanc Kingdom. The soft and warm sand under his bare feet... the sunshine washing over him after weeks of being held captive in a dark OZ cell... Oh, how good it felt to collapse against a soft, posh and freshly made bed!

He remembered the room Relena had given him at her boarding school after Quatre brought him to Sanc in the middle of the war; it was way too lavish for his taste. He had slept for days, recovering from grueling weeks of being held by the enemy on the moon, forced to fight for OZ before managing to escape, being recaptured and experimented on with the ZERO System, barely escaping with his sanity intact, fleeing to Earth and ending up fighting as a mercenary for the Treize Faction Militia and nearly losing his life in a hopeless losing battle against a battalion of Mobile Dolls just outside of Sanc. The unexpected R&R he had enjoyed once he had arrived at Relena's homeland included the best damn sleep he had had in his _life_ ; nothing has yet to compare.

Relena, of course, became worried when he hadn't come out of his room for two and a half days. She had checked on him a few times, disturbing his deep slumber for a brief moment. He could hear the door being unlocked from the outside, creaking softly as it was opened before she peeked into his room, watching him until she was certain he was still breathing, and then left quietly. On the third day, he could smell food: freshly-baked bread and pastry, strong coffee, bacon and eggs. She had stepped into his room and closed the door behind her, placing a tray of rattling dishes on the table by the bed. He pretended to be asleep, even though he had been awake since early morning. He just didn't feel like getting out of bed yet... it was _such_ a _comfortable_ bed...

He waited for Relena to leave the room, but she didn't. A sofa squeaked quietly as she settled on it and waited patiently. He dared a small peek behind half-lidded eyes, glancing at her through the shelter of his thick eyelashes. It was quite dark; though a dim halo of daylight filtered behind heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes obscuring a large window; it was just enough to illuminate the room faintly. Relena sat on the small double sofa next to the window, wearing pink/white/black school uniform and her hands folded over her lap as she stared down at her shoes... waiting. He realized that she wasn't going to leave.

Stifling a sigh, he sat up, the blanket falling down to his lap and revealing his filthy white undershirt. Avoiding her eyes, he reached for the tray. He could feel her eyes on him as he placed the tray over his lap, leaned into the headboard and picked up a small bun, nibbling on it quietly while staring dully at the messy bed sheets. He must have tossed and turned restlessly in his sleep, plagued by nightmares he could not recall for he had slept so deeply.

The fresh bread smelled and tasted wonderful, increasing his appetite. Realizing how hungry he was, he wolfed down the rest of the meal hastily. He finished by gulping the hot coffee, and slammed it back on the tray, releasing a content sigh now that his stomach was finally warm and full. He could feel her watching. Suddenly self-conscious, he reached carefully for a small bowl of fresh fruit salad, moving slower as he picked up a small fork. He ate the dessert more calmly, leaning casually against the headboard. When he dared a small glance in her direction, peeking behind unruly bangs, he caught her smiling, and frowned. He turned to face her, his expression stern, and her smile vanished, replaced by awkwardness. She cleared her throat, looking away uneasily.

"I've arranged for some clean clothes," she mumbled quietly, gazing at the closed curtains; "You can take a shower, if you want," she offered cautiously and it dawned on him that he must be absolutely _reeking_ of filth. He hadn't bothered with a shower and just took his flight suit off before crawling into bed... three days ago. All he wanted was to sleep. Now he suddenly became aware of his own damn stench of sweat, grime, gunpowder and whatnot. He was sticky with perspiration, blood and smut. It was _awful_. He nodded, accepting her offer, and threw the covers aside to get out of bed.

 When he returned to the room, showered, clean and dressed in a plain pair of white boxer shorts and tank top undershirt, his messy hair dripping wet, Relena was still waiting there. She had opened the curtains to let the soft daylight in. He noted that the room had an amazing ocean view. It was a tranquil and sunny day, flooding the grand dorm room with warm serenity. Relena had made his bed, replacing the sweaty and dirt-soiled sheets with fresh white linens. He stood by the open bathroom door, steam still coming out behind him, and stared at her strangely. He didn't know what to make of the whole situation. He was actually being cared for and it made him feel... awkward, out of place; like he wasn't even himself. He was never quite himself around her, at least not who he should be.

They stood at opposite sides of the room, simply staring at each other, until something changed. He wasn't sure what exactly. All he remembered for certain was that he had made the first move. Looking at Relena, suddenly it hit him that Duo had abandoned him on the moon. He escaped alone, while he had been away fighting for OZ against his will. He wasn't angry... he shouldn't be. Duo had done the reasonable thing. There were no strings attached when it came the two of them. Duo saw a chance and he took it... as he should have. The mission was all that mattered... right? No strings attached.

With Relena, however, there were so many strings. Too many. They were tangled all around him. He had felt their tug at that very moment, pulling him in. He stepped forward – marched briskly more like it – and in less than a second he had her pinned under him on the freshly-made bed, kissing her hungrily, one anxious hand sneaking fervently under her school blazer and blouse, tearing buttons open so he could cup her panting breasts. His other hand was already up her skirt, eager fingers carefully probing the deliciously warm wetness between her legs.

She had lost her virginity to him that day. He had taken what little innocence she had left, spiriting it away between fragranced white sheets while the warm ocean sun washed over their nude bodies. It was his first time with a girl and even years later he remembered every detail of it, especially how different it was compared to being with— compared to fucking Duo. There was a difference between the two; even as an inexperienced fifteen-year-old he could still recognize it. There was _being_ with someone, and there was _fucking_ someone. With Duo, there was never time to just... _be_ ; but with Relena he felt a kind of clam and tenderness he hadn't known with Duo.

Fucking Duo was like touching liberty, but sleeping with Relena was... peace. It was a different kind of pleasure; a mellow, slow-paced union of flesh that left time to exist in the moment, lingering long enough to feel the gratification and appreciation of the act. He wanted to thank her for taking him in, for lavishing him with care and affection, with simple indulgences he hadn't known before: like breakfast in a luxurious bed, luxury bed/bath sheets and most of all – a chance to rest and recuperate in peace. She had helped him find serenity and solace in times of unbearable uproar, granting him the simple yet elusive wish of a good night sleep when he was so terribly tired of all his scars.

No matter how haunted he felt – how broken, damaged or hollow – he could always come to her and just... sleep. One night, he had waited two hours in the rain outside her DC apartment until she finally came home from work. He hadn't slept in days; he couldn't sleep in his apartment after Elizabeth's death, so he came to her, miserable and dripping wet in the middle of the night, crying that he was so tired...

She had pulled him into her embrace, holding his cold wet body against her soft soothing warmth. She took him in and after a hot shower and clothes that just came out of the dryer she welcomed him into her bed, wrapping him in warmth and comfort until finally... he could rest. He wished he could crawl into her bed right now and just... sleep forever.

"I suppose that there are worse ways to go," Duo remarked nonchalantly, his husky voice speaking from the Shadows. "You've had far more gruesome death wishes, present one included..." he sniggered.

Heero turned his head slowly, away from the window. He stared at the Shadows numbly. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his arid mouth. He licked his chapped lips, but everything was so dry...

"Can you... get me some... more... water?" he asked hoarsely, barely finding a voice to speak with anymore. His throat was so parched...

"I would if I could, Heero," Duo muttered helplessly; "but I'm not really here, remember?"

"...yeah..." Heero sighed, closing his eyes tiredly; "I know..."

"The thirst won't kill you," Duo assured him; "He's been pumpin' ya with 'nough fluids to keep you alive."

"Yeah..." he agreed tiredly; "I think I wet myself..."

"You did," Duo mumbled sympathetically; "A number of times."

"How long... have I... been here..?"

"I've counted four sunrises and five sunsets," Duo said; "so I'm guessing... five days?"

Heero nodded slowly. It sounded about right. He was taken before Christmas... five days ago. _Five_ days... Five days during which he's been forced to relive his difficult childhood, his horrendous training, the war, the museum... his daughter's death... all in under _five_ days. Five days that Sloan has been reopening wounds and delving into his deepest scars. Five days and a lifetime of pain and suffering... it was too much, too fast. He was beat, overwhelmed and defeated. He stood divided, facing an impossible crossroad that would lead to his undoing either way. He didn't know which way to turn... he just wanted this terrible feeling to end...

"I don't feel so good..." he slurred miserably, moaning.

"That's because antibiotics and drugs don't mix," Duo reminded him, referring to the medication Sloan must have given him to fight the infection in his mouth where his tooth was extracted. "God only knows what else he's been feedin' ya... You're losing it... poisoned... dying."

"Yeah... probably..." he agreed, exhaling a sigh; "but I'm... I'm so... thirsty..."

"Dead men don't feel thirst," Duo pointed out.

"Must mean I'm not dead yet..." he replied ruefully.

"You're gonna be," Duo scoffed; "Seven people have already died on that chair... and you're next."

The autopsy reports came to mind; pictures of blue and mutilated corpses flashing in his head. None of the victims looked peaceful; they had died tortured and disgraced. Heero winced and turned the other way, opening his eyes. He stared at the window frame again, gaping at it desolately. It was getting dark.

"She'll be devastated," Duo whispered sadly; "you know that, right?"

His eyes watered with tears, flooded with anguish. "Yeah..." he mumbled, agreeing with Duo; "I know..."

"She really loves you. You were her first... that counts for something. There's a place in her heart that's always gonna be just for you. Corny, but true..."

"I know..." he mumbled resignedly; "I love her too... but he... he made me tell her... about... the museum..." he wept sorrowfully; "she knows..."

"She won't hold it against you," Duo promised.

"I know... but I... I didn't want her... to know..."

"If you don't want to hurt her then how about ditchin' the whole _'giving up without a fight'_ routine and doing sumthin' 'bout gettin' outta here?"

"Can't..." he shook his head, closing his eyes again; "Too... tired..."

Duo snorted rudely. "Cuz you don't care either way, do you?" he grumbled, disappointed. "You live on this fine line between life and death... standing on this _ledge_ and waiting for a strong wind to sway you one way or the other. You either live or die – whatever... just as long as you don't have to choose which. The thing is that no matter what, life seems to choose you every single time..."

"Yeah..." Heero agreed jadedly; "looks... like it..."

"Yanno, some say survival is the punishment for leaving things left unsaid. God knows you got yourself _plenty_ of that goin' around... It's only fitting that you die here, after he _wrings_ every last bit of it outta you," Duo added somberly. "I bet you'll let him. You're dying to have him... _redeem_ you. It's what you live for now... isn't it? Death."

"Stop trying... to... figure me... out..."

"Oh, I dun haftta," Duo chuckled darkly; "Seven people died just so he could figure you out. Bet he's gonna write this _big fancy_ _paper_ for some Goddamned academic journal... telling the world all about what makes a Gundam pilot tick. That's why he wants to get under your skin so bad, ain't it?"

"Could be..." Heero agreed weakly.

"I wouldn't be sayin' it if you didn't already think it," Duo said. "And you're just taking it lying down... That's a whole new level of pathetic, Heero. Da fuck you gave up the fight, huh? You useta go through fire and water for others... why not fight for yourself for a change?"

"There's... nothing left to... fight... for... I'm... burnt out..."

"Then choose _me_ , Heero... Choose the fire. Reignite. You could never live without the fire... it's the heat that kept you strong, right? Kept you fighting... kept you going. You were born to live, to fight... to overcome. You're so Goddamn _hot_ when you're alive... you're on fire. You fuck and fight like an animal... so fierce it's _scary_. When you live, you live so fucking _intensely_! Choose the heat again, Heero. Choose me. We'll burn together... living the only way we know how..."

He shook his head, biting down his lower lip, refusing to listen.

"Then choose _her_!" Duo exclaimed in frustration; "wrap yourself in that soft _candy-cotton_ blanket that you yearn for so much and sleep for the rest of your life... but just _choose_ life already! Get off the fucking ledge – live! Just... just pick one already! Choose... choose _life_. Don't just let it choose you – choose! Nothing fancy, just... life. With her, with me... alone... whatever... just don't let him win. You're better than that, Heero, you _know_ that! I wouldn't be sayin' these things otherwise, right? You don't wanna let him win... not really. You're just tired... I know... but you've gotta live through this, Heero, please... Don't let him win. Don't go out like this..."

"He's already won, Duo..." Heero mumbled bleakly, his voice trembling with tears; "He didn't... didn't even have to... go through... all this... trouble. All those people... dead... He didn't have to... I was already... broken. I... He... he's already... won..."

"No, no!" Duo insisted; "You can't say that! You worked _too damn hard_ to say it! Your wounds have healed, Heero, you're just seeing the scars. They'll always be a part of you, but the wounds are gone. Don't let that psycho fool you that they're still bleeding... they're not. The scars hurt. He dug into them and now they _hurt_ , but that hurt is good. It reminds you of what you have to live for now... it's a reason to fight. You've come too far to just let go... Look at what you've overcome! Keep walking on the ledge, but don't fall, Heero... please."

"No..." he shook his head, weeping; "I give up... I want to fall... I want off this ledge, Duo!" he cried out desperately. "I just want it to end... Enough talking... the questions... I'm done... undone. I'm all undone... I can't do this again... I can't get up... can't... there's no point..."

"Fuck that!" Duo exclaimed, almost panicked; "Don't go down that bumpy road again – you hear! Cuz if you do, you'll fall... and you'll break... and then he'd _really_ win. Don't go making that mistake again, Heero... prove him wrong. Prove _yourself_ wrong. You've gotta have faith. Believe in yourself! Believe in yourself like you believe _we_ believe in you. Keep up with that image you're always trying to project... you're good at that. You don't want to let us down again, right? So don't give up. Not this time... not until it's all over and we'll be there to pick up the pieces. Please, Heero... just a while longer."

"You won't come for me..." he sighed, shaking his head sadly; "And Relena... she... she can't pick up the pieces anymore... I'm all over the place... and she... she... I can't put her through this again... You won't come for me... you never do... you said so yourself..."

"Fuck that! I ain't sayin' anythin'!" Duo called out in frustration; "I'm not even _real_! You're talking to your own _stubborn_ self! You're using _my_ voice – _mine_ – not _hers_! Doesn't that tell you something? Will you just listen to yourself already?! You don't want to die here! You're not ready to give up! You _know_ you can get through this and you know why you should! You've made your choice... now step up and do what you gotta do!"

Heero sniffled, though his nose was still runny, and turned to face the Shadows again.

"You're right..." he mumbled dully; "I am ready... I... I'll choose now... I'll end this... make this... stop... the bleeding... it'll stop... I'll choose now, Duo... Tell him... please... that I... I'm ready... to end this..."

This time, Duo didn't retort with a spiteful answer. No more reassurances. Instead there was only silence. Heero lifted his head up a bit and looked around, searching the darkness. There was nothing, no one, there; not a sound. Duo had nothing more to say. He had retreated into the Shadows, awaiting his decision... his final choice.

Heero sighed and laid his head back against the reclined chair. There was nothing left of his mind or his soul. He returned to staring numbly at the fading frame of light around the closed window, waiting for his redeemer to come and put him out of his misery.

*     *     *

 

 

[i] SI/HI: Suicidal ideation/homicidal ideation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the [INTERMISSION PICTURE](https://www.dropbox.com/s/pchd8v8r1ho5n4i/Left%20Unsaid%20-%20intertlude.jpg?dl=0).


	13. OD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Christmas Day came to a close as nighttime fell over the dense streets of East Village's Alphabet City. Long columns of brownstone tenement apartment buildings and soil-colored row-houses flickered to life as lights were turned on in nearly every window. However, in one tenement building, ten stories high, the windows of the apartment on the top floor overlooking the street remained dark. The large living room window was wide open, allowing faint nighttime urban illumination to shed some light into the small residence.

Duo sat on the carpet between a black leather sofa and a plain wooden coffee table; he was leaning against the couch with his knees drawn up to his chest. His wildly-cropped hair dangled in a lifeless mess around his head, reaching down to his shoulders. Spiky strands of unevenly layered brown hair kissed the rough-leather khaki shoulder-patches of the jacket he was wearing: Heero's Preventer jacket. He was sitting in Heero's empty apartment, wearing the missing man's jacket and sipping from a newly bought bottle of Jameson whiskey while he waited for the news that will undoubtedly break his heart. There was no other place he would rather be while he waited, and no other garment he would rather be wearing. He wanted to feel Heero near at this solemn hour.

He took a long swig from the bottle, gulping the bitter liquor as though it was mere water. He lowered the bottle down and released a raspy sigh. All the while, his grave cobalt-blue eyes glowered at the closed television screen hanging from the opposite wall, having nowhere else to direct their blame. He drank some more.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock from the outside drew his attention in mid-swig. The key was rattled a bit as the person on the other side was probably surprised to find out that the door was already unlocked. A second later, it opened. Duo didn't bother turning around to see who it was.

Relena stepped quietly into the small apartment and closed the door behind her. She was holding a set of keys and dressed casually in plain blue jeans and a sloppy lavender sweater. Her long dishwater-blonde hair was gathered into an untidy ponytail and her makeup was fading after covering her face the whole day long. She stood by the door, staring woefully at the young man sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. She wasn't surprised to see him; in fact, she had a feeling she would find him there once she arrived. Heero had once mentioned that there wasn't a lock in the world Duo couldn't pick, so he must have broken in.

She approached Duo quietly and stopped short in amazement when she noticed his chaotically cropped hair. She chewed on her lower lip, biting back a curious remark because she knew better than to pry. She resumed her approach, finally standing next to the sofa.

"Where have you been, Duo?" she asked softly; "I haven't seen you in almost two days."

"Around," Duo grunted and took a rough swig from the bottle.

Relena observed him worriedly.

"You weren't answering your cell," she added in a non-accusing tone.

"It ain't on me no more," he muttered, swinging the bottle left and right by its neck and watching the golden liquid swirl inside.

Relena frowned, but didn't comment; a part of her understood the burden of carrying that phone. Heaving a sigh, she joined Duo on the floor and reached a hand up, wordlessly asking him to share his drink. He shoved the bottle into her hand without turning to look at her.

"There's been another call," she whispered and took a careful sip, wincing as the bitter drops slid down her throat.

"Yeah, I heard."

"Shaw got hold of you?" she wondered, handing him the bottle.

"Nope," he grumbled and snatched the whiskey back; "I mean I _heard_ ," he clarified and raised the bottle for a sip. "Son-of-a-bitch had me on the line too," he added bitterly between gulps, drinking so carelessly that some whiskey sipped and slid down his clean-shaven chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, sighing. "I heard the whole fucking thing."

Relena gaped at him, speechless. Duo knew... he knew about the rape. She shuddered, feeling equally angry and terrified. Heero would never want Duo to know, never. Her eyes watered with helpless tears of frustration. She felt so hurt for Heero... completely devastated.

She reached for the whiskey bottle and Duo handed it to her. She accepted it silently and took a few quick sips, trying to drown the terrible sorrow she felt inside. They sat side by side, staring ahead numbly while sharing the bottle, and their pain.

"I think that was the longest steam of words I've ever heard come out of his mouth..." Duo's despondent voice broke the thick silence after a while. He took another swig and handed the bottle to Relena. She took a few more sips.

"His silence always drove me up the wall, but now..." he paused, raising a hand up to rake his long hair back behind his ears, and shook his head in frustration; "Jesus... I think the silence suits me better," he muttered with a sigh; "...suits him better."

Relena nodded in sympathy and handed him back the bottle. "It's easier," she agreed; "when he doesn't talk... when he hides behind that cold front. But it's not fair to him. He's hurting inside... all the time."

"Yeah, I know..." Duo mumbled sadly, casting his gaze down to the floor. He held the bottle by its neck, toying with it absentmindedly.

"You know I've never even seen him smile?" he mumbled and raised the whiskey bottle for another sip. "Not to mention hearing him cry... the goddamned stony-face bastard, he never showed me anything... nothing beyond the darkness. I fell in love with a freaking _brick wall_... with what I thought must be hiding behind it," he laughed bitterly; "Story of my fucking life... running straight into stone walls. I'm fucking _stuck,_ yanno? There's this _barrier_ I just can't seem to breach... not with Heero, not with anything. It fucking sucks..." he exhaled sadly and took another long sip of whiskey. He turned to Relena, his blue eyes gleaming forlornly.

"How'd you do it?" he asked in despair; "how'd you make him show you what's behind that wall?"

She sighed and turned to gaze at the coffee table again. "I don't think I did anything, really... it was his choice. To be honest, I always felt stupid for chasing him around like that... hoping that he'd notice me. I never expected him to reciprocate any of my feelings. He thought I was a child. But then one day he just... I don't know what changed. It was after he escaped from the Moon Base. Something must have happened up there. He... something changed."

Duo nodded, bowing his head down in disgrace. "Lotsa shit happened up there," he mumbled drearily. "They held us prisoners for weeks. Heero was already in a cell when they got me, so he was there even longer. They... they used him as a test pilot for these new suits they were building. Test after test... day in and day out. He was bruised and aching all over and they didn't care, just kept going like he was some kind of a machine. They wore him down. When they brought him back to the cell all he did was sleep. I had to force some food into him... he was so tired. One day they took him to test the suit on the battlefield... forced him to fight for them. They took him and never brought him back. I got lucky and escaped while he was gone... I had no idea where he was or if he was even alive. Three months later I found out that he managed to escape a couple of weeks after I did." He paused, casting his gaze down sadly. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"He musta thought I abandoned him. He never said anything, but I know he did. I woulda thought so too. We never talked, yanno? Never said anything even when there was so much we shoulda said... we coulda shown that we cared, but we didn't. And then you came along and gave him what I wouldn't... You showed that you cared, and that's fucking irresistible. God... I was so fucking _stupid!_ " he groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I had eight years to fix this – eight years! – but I didn't. Fucking asshole..."

"Communication goes both ways," Relena pointed out softly; "Heero had eight years too..." she mumbled sadly; "It only took him two years to realize that I wasn't enough. He had six more years to contact you, but he didn't. You're not the only one to blame. You were both hurting. Maybe you needed this time apart... to grow."

"And then _this_ shit happened..." Duo grumbled bitterly, shaking his head and sighing. He took another sip of whiskey and placed the bottle back down.

"I always thought that things would be different if he'd share his pain," he admitted solemnly; "That maybe then we'd be able connect more or sumthin', but... but maybe I was comfortable with the silence," he sighed; "To hear him cry, it's... I..." he paused, placing the bottle on the floor between his legs. He stared at it numbly.

"He's been through so much since I last saw him..." he whispered, "he's changed so much and I... It freaks me out. I don't know him that way. I... I don't know if I _wanna_ know him that way... I don't know what to do with all that pain. I... I can barely cope with mine. I can't help him. I... He... He was the one who helped me, yanno? He was the one thing I could depend on to never fall apart. I don't know how to play this game with the roles all reversed..."

"I didn't know either," she confessed. "Seeing Heero hit rock bottom... it... it was hard. I couldn't handle it. I... I didn't know how. The trauma was too much and he... he lost it. He... he got lost in it. The violent outbursts were the worst. I was afraid to fall asleep next to him. The night terrors would take over and he'd... he..." she sighed, shaking her head miserably. "I had to get away... I didn't know what else to do. The only reason he eventually pulled through was because of Doctor Wright... not me. He made it back somehow, but I... I never looked at him the same. I know that he knows that... I know how much it hurts him to see himself through my eyes. It hurts both of us..." She sighed, casting her gaze down shamefully. "Things change," she mumbled; "people change... circumstances change... nothing stays the same. It's out of our control and all we can do is either try to cope with it, or leave. Moving on isn't easy... I couldn't leave him... not while I still feel responsible for his pain. Now I... I don't know. Maybe he's better off without me."

"You don't like what he's become?"

"It's not that," she sighed, shaking her head; "I have no right to judge. I'm the reason he's like this now... And I think that seeing him in a new light didn't change my feelings for him, just the way I perceive him. I came to realize that there's more of him to love now, that's all. I just don't think I deserve to love him the way I do... not anymore."

"And you think I do? Even after all those years apart? You think I can just walk back into his life and fix everything? That's horseshit and you know it. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"You see more of him now... that's a good thing, Duo," she whispered; "You'll be able to help him now, I'm sure. You can heal together. Isn't it what you've always wanted?"

"I... I dunno..." Duo mumbled in distress, repeatedly running a hand through his choppy bangs. "I don't know why I fell in love in the first place. I mean, he was _so_ fucked up and I was even worse... but at least he kept a tight lid on it, yanno? Made it look like he had it all under control even though it was probably bullshit. It was so easy to depend on a guy like that and it... it just _happened_ , yanno? This... this _thing_ just sparked to life and... and I was so caught up I never stopped to think of how fucked up it all was. I didn't _haffta_ think... Heero usually did all the thinking, I just went with it. But I don't think he had it all figured out, yanno? I was the _one_ thing he never figured out. Maybe _that_ was it, I dunno. Maybe he liked not knowing. It was different... new... untainted."

"And you're afraid that now he knows?" Relena asked, observing his face carefully. Duo hunched forward and curled into himself by hugging his knees close to his chest.

"If he knows then I'm screwed..." he mumbled, staring at his feet; "I've let him down so many fucking times... not just on the Moon Base... but every single time. I never came through... not the way I shoulda. He was never wise enough to realize it, though, and just kept coming back for more. There's something very... naïve... about him, yanno? Despite of everything. Something no one has ever touched before so it's... it's still pure, still clueless. It's almost _cute_... if it wasn't so Goddamn tragic. He just can't see these things the way I do..."

Relena nodded in agreement. "I've noticed that too," she whispered uneasily; "He trusted me with that thing... that thing no one else could touch. He left himself wide open for an attack... and I broke him. I didn't mean to... but he broke," she mumbled helplessly; "He broke because I also let him down."

"So now he knows," Duo concluded, closing his eyes sadly. "He isn't going to choose me... and that fuck is gonna make him suffer for it."

"You don't know that," Relena tried to offer comfort, but he stopped her when he looked up, pinning her gaze with a pair of somber cobalt blue eyes.

"But I do," he whispered tragically; "all he has to do is look back at our time together with this new understanding he's gained and we're doomed. He'll see. He'll realize how I let him chase me just because I liked it. Showed that he cared, yanno? He didn't show it in so many ways, but at least that way I knew. Still I... I never showed it back, not the way I shoulda. It wasn't part of the deal. I knew he wanted me to... He would get this disappointed look in his eyes... broke my fucking heart, but I... I _liked_ it, that disappointment. That _hurt_. Seeing all of his defenses go up because he wanted to protect that _thing_ from getting hurt... and still he kept coming back, even when I never returned the favor. It's like he wanted to want it, yanno? No matter what. I mean, he wasn't stupid or anything, he probably knew what he was gettin' himself into... and he wanted it. He just didn't want to show it."

"So you didn't either?"

"I guess," Duo mumbled, shrugging. "Maybe it was all about ego... I dunno. I just knew that if I'd show too much, he'd _bolt_ ," he sighed, shaking his head; "And he did... whenever I slipped, if I let it show, then he'd take it hard and walk away. I was afraid to show it, I didn't want him to stop chasing me... lose interest. I didn't wanna risk it. I knew that if I showed Heero how I much I _really_ cared then he won't come back. He didn't really want to show me that _thing_ , but in some way he did and that chase... God... it was like he was chasing his own tail. I couldn't bear to watch... but it sorta became our thing... the only thing we could have. Fucking cat 'n mouse... I got fed up with it eventually. The chase wasn't leading anywhere. The war was over. There was no more point running. I wanted him to choose. That night, after the fight in Brussels, I just... lost it. I left without ever giving him a chance to chase me..."

"Because you thought that he chose me?"

"It was the only choice he knew how to make," he mumbled; "because it's the obvious one. I get that now. I get why he stayed... He stayed where he was welcomed. We cut each other loose... just like that and it... it got twisted over time," Duo bowed his head down sadly; his words came out slowly and thoughtfully.

"I told myself I felt betrayed that he chose you. It was stupid, childish, to feel that way, but I did. I was sixteen for fuck's sake... and I was angry... so _fucking angry_... I didn't care anymore. I just didn't. He chose you and suddenly it felt like he betrayed me. I had to get away. I had to get away from him and then... you know... time just... it runs its course, right? It changes things, you lose perspective." He paused for a moment, fiddling nervously with the bottle. "Betrayal has that kinda grip on the mind, yanno?" he looked up at her, smiling miserably, his blue eyes apologetic; "It's so fucking powerful... like a snake... a python. It wraps itself around you and just... it squeezes out all other thoughts... suffocates all other emotions until... until everything else is dead... gone... except for the rage." He lowered his gaze back to the floor, ashamed.

"Thinking about him made me wanna scream," he said; "It drove me nuts... so I stopped. Or tried to stop... It never really went away. I can still feel it... that rage... right here," he looked at her and pointed at his chest, tapping on it with his finger; "like it's gonna burst," he whispered in a pained voice, wincing; "but I can't let it because if it bursts out, then I'll lose whatever's left of my feelings for him and I... I'm not ready to do that yet."

"Why?" she asked. It was a simple question, and if he didn't stop to dwell on it too much, trying to figure out motive and overcome speculation, it had a very simple answer:

"Because I still love him," he said, casting his gaze down to the floor; "And I guess that's never going to change," Duo added gloomily and with a weary sigh, he reached for the coffee table to grab a pack of Winston Blue that has been lying there, along with a plain blue plastic lighter. He lit up a cigarette and threw the box back to the table. Taking a long drag, he tilted his head back and released smoke upwards in a long and miserable exhale before falling into a deep and frustrated silence.

Relena also had nothing more to say. She reached for the Jameson bottle resting on the floor between them and took a few careful sips. They sat in tense silence, together yet alone with their brooding thoughts.

Holding the bottle weakly in her grasp, Relena slowly leaned her head aside and rested it on Duo's shoulder, her cheek pressed against the rough khaki leather patch of Heero's jacket. Duo tensed, surprised, and turned his head down to look at her in wonder.

"You smell just like him," she whispered wistfully, closing her eyes and smiling sadly. "Just give me a minute..."

He gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment before nodding his head and turning to face forward again. He resumed smoking, gawking mindlessly at the closed TV screen, while Relena nuzzled her face against his shoulder and leaned even closer against his warm body so she could bask in the comforting and familiar scents of leather, cigarettes and whiskey.

*     *     *

Violent winds gust by quickly, sweeping wildly past the tall Preventer building towering over Lower Manhattan. It was nighttime and the New York City skyline was filled with tall skyscrapers illuminated by glowing yellow patches of light. The dark skies were clear and a bone-cutting chill filled the crispy air. A glassy layer of black ice coated the balcony on Preventer FO's 52nd floor. Down below, traffic crawled carefully down icy urban roads.

Heero stood on the thick concrete banister surrounding the large balcony; he was barefoot and naked, covered by a coarse gray blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He stood on the stone ledge, looking down at the busy road below while holding the blanket closed around his nude chest. Cold winds tousled his hair, his bangs swinging wildly before his eyes. The cold didn't bother him. He stared at the steady flow of traffic with desolate blue eyes.

A familiar figure was standing way down below. A young man stood at the center of the otherwise empty plaza spreading before the tall building, looking up at him while his long braid flapped wildly with the wind. Heero's eyes were drawn to the fierce defiance burning riotously in Duo's cobalt-blue eyes. He stared back dully, looking straight into his eyes even though they were over fifty floors apart. Duo glared back, his head tilted upwards and a spiteful, daring, expression was set on his hard and matured face. Heero wasn't looking at the teenage boy he had last seen in person, but at the adult whose picture he had seen in an L2PD file... a person he has yet to meet.

Instinctively, Heero's foot moved, about to step forward... off the ledge. He could see Duo bracing himself, his whole posture tensing. He suddenly realized that there was no proper footing beyond the ledge, and stopped. His eyes darted down to glance at his foot, still hovering above the abyss. He cocked his head aside, frowning, and simply stared at his bare foot as it hung above a fifty-story drop.

Down below, Duo was still looking up at him, daring him to take the plunge. Heero shifted his glance to meet his eyes again. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled his foot back and placed it carefully on the ledge, steadying himself before he'd fall. Duo's expression turned even colder, angrier.

Feeling Duo's icy glare as though it was biting into his flesh, Heero drew the blanket closer. He held it tightly against his nude chest, trembling. He turned around slowly, clutching the wool blanket close.

Relena was standing on the balcony, just a few feet away. She was looking at him worriedly, a glisten of tormented tears shining in her bright-blue eyes. She reached an arm up, slowly, beckoning him to take her hand. She was also asking him to step off the ledge.

He cast his gaze down to the concrete floor, a mere fifty-inch drop below the banister. It was a safe decision, a harmless jump. He looked up again, meeting her sorrowful gaze. He could see the museum reflecting in her tearful blue eyes and he cringed, looking away from the tainted image of himself. The way she was looking at him has changed once again. All she would ever see in him now will be the handprints of those three men, those animals from the museum. All she could see now was the person he has become since that day; a man shaped, forged and broken by her most fatal mistakes... the source of her deepest, darkest, pain.

He turned away, facing forward again, and his eyes searched the wide plaza below until he spotted Duo. It was a dangerous fall, but manageable. After all, he had jumped off a fifty-story-high building before, with Duo by his side. He remembered how Relena had screamed his name out in panic from the Alliance Hospital No. 3 building's 50th floor as he took that plunge without even opening his parachute. He could still hear her helpless shriek echo in the wind. She had jerked him into taking action and save his own miserable life. He had opened the chute, though a bit too late. He had crashed anyway, but survived the fall. Thus it began. His endless waltz between Duo and Relena started with a plunge, and so it shall also end. Everything died sooner or later. There were no more chains holding him to this life; Sloan has shattered all of them. He was ready to take the fall.

He swung his leg forward. Just a small step off of life's fragile little edge and it would finally be over...

"Don't," someone called quietly, and Heero stopped short in surprise, looking up. His foot still hovered above the abyss. He stared at it wretchedly, disappointed by his own lack of resolve. He looked up, searching for the speaker. His blank expression showed no hint of astonishment when he recognized the person who just stopped him.

He was an older man, around fifty plus, kind and pleasant-looking. His hair was rich and thick, its color a dark shade of gray with streaks of white here and there. He was dressed casually in plain blue jeans and a tacky red/white reindeer Christmas sweater, which gave him quite a homey and laidback appearance. He stood with both hands tucked into his jeans' pockets, observing Heero calmly; much too calmly considering he had just walked in on someone who was about to throw himself of the ledge of a fifty-story-high building. But then again, Dr. Donald Wright was never one who was easily fazed, not even when coming to get him off the roof of his apartment building back in DC on Christmas AC 203.

"Sit down, Heero," Dr. Wright requested coolly while keeping a safe distance. Heero didn't argue. He crouched down carefully and settled into a sitting position on the cold concrete ledge, facing the man and holding the blanket around himself while his bare legs dangled lifelessly a few inches above the balcony floor. He turned to look at Wright, his expression blank. The man observed him calmly.

"I left this part out of my SOAP report last year," he reminded Heero; "I agreed to keep this as our little secret... do you remember why?"

Heero nodded, bowing his head down shamefully. "I didn't want you to commit me..." he mumbled, gawking numbly at the concrete floor; "I promised it won't happen again..."

"And yet here we are," the man sighed disapprovingly. "I don't appreciate being forced into making a habit out of this," he reprimanded; "talking my patients out of jumping off rooftops every Christmas is not my idea of a holiday."

"This isn't really happening," Heero argued quietly, staring down at his bare feet; they were frozen cold. The cold was real.

"You're not really here," he repeated, looking up at Wright. "It's not real. I'm... I'm still tied to that chair... dreaming..."

"You're thinking about last Christmas," Wright pointed out; "You're thinking about the last time you tried to kill yourself – why?"

Heero shrugged helplessly, sighing. "I don't know..." he whispered, bowing his head down again.

"You want me to talk you out of taking that plunge," the doctor explained softly and Heero could suddenly feel Duo's harsh glare burning on his back. Duo was still down there, watching... waiting.

He nodded slowly, keeping his head bowed in disgrace. "I was drunk... I... I wasn't sure what I was doing." He sighed, turning to look at Wright. "You talked me out of it once... I need you to do it again."

Heaving a weary sigh, Wright took his hands out of his pockets and approached the banister on which Heero was sitting. He stood next to his young patient and leaned against the thick stone barrier, crossing his arms over his cheerful holiday sweater.

"That was different," he said; "Last time you called me so I'd talk you out of jumping off a _real_ roof," he corrected sternly, sighing. "If this isn't real, then why won't you take the fall?"

"It _is_ real..." Heero mumbled wretchedly, closing his eyes. He concentrated on the feeling of cold wind beating against his back. "This fall... it's always been real..."

"And just as alluring," Wright deduced; "Dangerous."

Heero nodded to confirm.

"You feel your life hangs in the balance," the doctor interpreted; "you've found yourself at the crossroad again, and that's why you're thinking about last year."

Again he nodded in agreement. Wright could always interpret what he thought and felt without him having to articulate every little hurt. It made it easier to open up to the man, to treatment. This man was the only reason he was still alive, still functional.

"Last time you chose change," Wright reminded him carefully; "You decided to put some distance between you and Relena and start over in New York. You chose to run away."

He nodded slowly, just a slight and hesitant movement of his head.

"It wasn't enough..." he mumbled ruefully and raised his head up to look at Relena, who was still standing a few feet away, waiting.

"She wouldn't let me go..." he added miserably, observing Relena with a sorrowful look in his eyes.

He couldn't look at her without thinking about the men at the museum. He couldn't look at her without thinking about the panic in her tearful eyes the night he had jerked awake from a fit of night terrors and found himself with his hands wrapped tightly around her neck, still squeezing, while she desperately tried to snap him out of his trance. He couldn't look at her without thinking of how she had cringed from his eager and aggressive sexual advances. She called him a _caveman_ , smiling like it was funny and telling him that it was rather hot and sexy, but all he could think about was how she was comparing him to those _apes_ at the museum. How could it be sexy if she felt that she had to stop him each time he took things too far? He couldn't look at her without recalling how she sometimes regretted allowing him into her bed; or the quiet disappointment in her eyes when she found out that he had turned to others to answer his destructive needs.

He couldn't look at her without thinking of Elizabeth either, without feeling the pain brewing in his heart and the shame festering in his soul. He couldn't look at her without feeling rage and resentment sizzle under his skin; irrational anger he felt towards her just because she had chosen to carry his child to term instead of saving them both the future heartache and terminating Lizzie's life before she was even born.

He couldn't look at her without thinking of a lost childhood and the premature loss of innocence – both his and Lizzie's. He couldn't look at her without feeling guilty for never being there, for saving a whole planet full of strangers yet failing his own flesh and blood by repeating the same sins his parents had committed against him.

He couldn't look at her without falling apart, without crumbling under the burden of guilt for the anguish he had caused her as she tried her best to make it up to him for all those sins and more. He couldn't look at her without breaking all over again. He couldn't look at Relena without loving her and hating her at that same time, so he looked away. He tilted his head back, turning to face the heavens, and fixed his solemn blue eyes on the starless black skies above.

He couldn't look at her anymore... but he couldn't look away either. He loved her so it hurt his soul, maybe because he hated her just the same. She had ruined him just as she had built him; he couldn't forgive her for that. He couldn't choose her... he couldn't.

Sighing, Heero leaned back, shifting his weight towards the abyss, but not enough to topple over. His fists curled tightly around the ledge, holding onto it or else he would fall. He refused to let go; he couldn't. The wild wind beat against his back, the gray wool blanket flailing around his naked body. He could still feel Duo's icy stare like daggers in his back.

What kind of person he will see reflecting in Duo's eyes, he wondered. Who will Duo see when he'll look at him? The teenage soldier he used to be, or the broken man he has become? Who did he _want_ Duo to see? What version of himself did he wish to find in Duo's eyes once they were finally face to face – the strong, or the weak? The fake, or the real? Which one did he need to be so that Duo won't look away the moment their eyes met?

He leaned back even further, but his fists were still curled tightly around the banister's ledge to stop the fall, refusing to let go. He couldn't. He was afraid. What if all he would ever be was this broken version of himself? What if Duo looks away? What then?

"There's only one way to find out," Wright said.

But he was afraid to choose. He couldn't choose Duo either. What if it was the wrong choice? What then? What will be left of him then? What if he took the plunge and Duo won't be there to catch him?

He couldn't do it. He couldn't...

"No one is going to push you off this ledge, Heero," Dr. Wright reminded him softly; "It's entirely up to you."

He knew that. He's always known that it was up to him. Duo won't chase him. Duo won't come for him. No; Duo just waited. They were similar that way; both contrary and antagonistic. If chased, they dodged. If cornered, they lashed out. But if invited patiently, allowed to take their time and come on their own terms, they appeased. That was why Duo waited for him. That was why he never chased. Duo was waiting for him to come on his own terms instead of just bolting in senseless fright. It was the only way they'd both know it was genuine. It was the only way to make it _real_ , but he didn't know what _real_ was anymore. He didn't _feel_ real. He was all undone; unraveled and disseminated so that he couldn't even recognize himself. And if Relena hadn't been able to put him back together again then who's to say that Duo could? Did he even want him to, or did he wish to start all over again, rebuilding himself from scratch? Why bother?

Heero sighed and closed his eyes, still facing the heavens.

For Relena? Why? So he could spend his life looking at a miserable image of himself?

For Duo? What for? So he could spend his life in endless banter, frustration and games of hide and seek, always second guessing himself?

So why _should_ he bother? For what? _Who?_

His daughter? Why? She was lost to him; dead because of his negligence.

For a spiteful payback against his inadequate mother? Why? She never mattered, so why start now? There will be no satisfaction there.

For a defiant display of perseverance towards the men who had trained him and stole his humanity away? Why? What would _that_ prove?! They were all _dead_! They wouldn't care if he persevered. He was just a tool... a plaything, a weapon. They never wanted him to be anything else, so why should they care if now he was?

It didn't matter. He wasn't getting off this ledge for them... not for _any_ of them. He will make the choice for his own sake, for the death he had been promised. He will give his life for a choice no one would ever know he made. It was a safe jump... safer than any leap he had made before because death was a certainty. Redemption was finally at hand.

And so at long last, after all those years, Heero was ready to take the plunge. It was so much easier to choose when he knew that he won't be forced to live with the consequences; knowing that his decision didn't have to be accompanied by the necessary resolve it took to follow it through.

His legs trembled when he moved to stand, maneuvering carefully on the concrete ledge as he rose slowly, holding the blanket clasped against his naked chest. He wobbled for a moment before he managed to steady himself by spreading one arm to the side. He straighten up, his back rigid and his shoulders drawn back. He stood with his back turned towards the abyss. The balcony was dark. Dr. Wright was gone; Relena wasn't. She stood on the balcony, waiting, while Duo waited down below.

Heero clutched the coarse blanket closer, drawing strength from the only source of security he had left. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and prepared to jump.

A cold drop of water fell on his chin. It started raining; a freezing, sharp, drizzle pounded hard against the concrete balcony. Facing the sky, his eyes closed, Heero allowed the cool sprinkle to ease the heat pulsating in his cheeks. The rain washed over his flushed and feverish face. He opened his parched lips, welcoming the blessed wetness. Cold water trickled into his mouth, some dripping down his stubbly chin; dribbles of awareness that flurried his mind to life. Cool liquid slid down his throat, surprising him, and he coughed – choking and gurgling loudly. He swallowed, breath still panting, and opened his eyes.

A glass of water was served to his lips again, gently. He gulped the water down hungrily, spilling most of it, until the glass was pulled away from his gaping mouth. He moaned in protest, shaking his head weakly. It was not enough...

A light was switched on, pouring mercilessly from above. He grimaced and closed his eyes again, trying to escape the brutally bright assault. He wriggled his limbs feebly, writhing against the leather bonds holding him down to the reclined chair. He felt the coarse fabric of the blanket brush against his naked body. His restrained fists curled around the rough textile, desperately holding onto the cover.

He opened his eyes again, carefully. They were bloodshot and glassy. Black bags under his eyes made them appear as though they were sunken deeply into his skull. His gaunt face was terribly pale and clammy, glistening with beads of feverish sweat. Wired electrodes were still connected to his forehead. His hollow cheeks were covered with dark stubble and the skin on his chapped and wounded lips was peeling off.

He blinked until his pupils adjusted to the bright projector light raining from above and then slowly turned his head to the left, where Dr. Sloan usually stood. As expected, the man was there, watching him in mute and sickly fascination.

"Have you reached a decision?" the older man asked calmly.

Heero stared at him dully for a moment, trying to distinguish between dream and reality, before nodding his head.

"Yes..." he croaked faintly; "Are you going to kill me?" he asked almost pleadingly and Dr. Sloan smiled down at him; a morbidly pleasant smile.

"Once you choose," he promised and Heero nodded gratefully. He closed his eyes and turned his head the other way, licking his dampened lips, savoring the wetness. "Then I... I'm ready..."

"Where should I dump your body?" Sloan asked the question coolly, as though discussing something trivial; "Which one of them is going to find you?"

For a moment, Heero simply gawked mindlessly in the opposite direction, lost in thought. He blinked, slowly turning to face Sloan again.

"Put me by my daughter's grave," he murmured quietly.

"Does that mean you've chosen Relena?" Sloan raised a curious eyebrow.

Heero sighed and looked away, shaking his head weakly. "It means I want to be buried beside my daughter..." he mumbled mournfully; "I never... there's no will. I... I've never given any thought to my own burial... I just want her to know."

"Transporting a body across three states isn't easy," Sloan reproached, smirking. "Are you trying to get me caught?"

"You asked... I answered..." Heero mumbled resignedly; "What you do after I'm dead is out of my hands..."

"So if I just dump your body in the Hudson?"

"Then so be it."

Sloan smiled, pleased. "Interesting," he commented; "You've reverted back to indifference. Is that how you've always braced yourself for death?"

"There's no point fussing over the inventible."

"True," Sloan agreed; "Your detachment is commendable. I didn't think you still had it in you after this past week."

Heero sighed and turned his head the other way. "Everything is just so... clear now..." he mumbled dazedly.

"And that comforts you," Sloan deduced; "Soothes you."

Heero didn't comment. He was tired of speaking to this man. He's already said so much... The man has wringed every last word out of him, except for one – a name, a choice... a final resolution.

"So tell me, Heero," Sloan urged gently, almost as casually as if he was about to inquire about the weather. "Who should we call?"

Heero's eyes snapped wide open and darted in Sloan's direction.

"...call?" he rasped fearfully, his expression turning wretched as realization hit him. "No..." he whispered, horrified, and began shaking his head repeatedly. "No calls... no more... calls... no more talking... no more... calls..."

"Heero," Sloan reprimanded like he was speaking to a disobedient child, "you know very well that this is how it works. You choose and I make the call so you can say goodbye. They have to know. Only then you'll be worthy of redemption. We've been through this many times."

"No..." he moaned weakly, still shaking his head in useless resistance. "I'll walk you through it... my choice... I'll tell you why... tell you everything, but... I... I won't call... I won't tell them... I can't... no..."

Sloan was scowling angrily now. He yanked the blanket away swiftly and Heero gasped, startled.

"No!" he cried out, hysteric now that his only source of security was gone and he remained laid completely bare in front of his torturer. A stampede of images assaulted him, trampling over him in a violent rush: His stepfather took away his favorite toy just to see if he would cry. A fire took his mother away. His stepfather was soon to join her. A shot to the chest took Odin away. Dr. J took Mary away. Dekim Barton took his humanity away. The sound of J's claw took his free will away. Retraining took the rest of his mind away. Duo took his heart away. The war took his soul away. Three men took his dignity, his masculinity, away. The DC Incident took his sanity away. Relena's negligence took Elizabeth away. His own gun took his daughter's life away. He too had thrown away Lizzie's favorite toy – her pink bunny doll – when he moved to New York, thus completing the cycle. Everything was taken away; every little piece of him stripped off and thrown to the dogs. There was nothing left... nothing! He had _nothing_ left!!!

"Give it back!" he begged, sobbing loudly; "Please... Sloan... Give it back! Give it back... please... GIVE IT BACK!"

"I will once you make that call," Sloan said coldly.

"No..." Heero cried hopelessly; "I... I can't... Don't make me... don't make me hurt them before I die... give me that... just that one last thing... please... please don't make me hurt them... give me that at least... please... don't take it away... give it back... please... give me something back... just one thing... please... please... give it back... please!"

"Tell me who I should call."

"No!" he shouted, suddenly bold, angry. He thrashed wildly in his bonds, livid and distraught, naked muscles stretching beyond their limit yet still fighting to break free, driven by hopeless desperation. He was sick of the torture. He couldn't take it anymore!

"I won't tell you!" he snapped, screaming madly; "I won't choose! I won't say it! Not _one_ more word! I HAVE NOTHING MORE TO SAY TO YOU SLOAN! NOTHING! I'll _DIE_ before I tell you! I'll die and you'll _NEVER_ know! Never! All of this will be for nothing! _NOTHING!_ You'll get nothing more from me! Just like always – _nothing!_ NOTHING! You sick fuck – you get _NOTHING!_ "

Dr. Sloan didn't let the mad shouting get his goat. He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

"I was hoping it won't have to come to this," he muttered, dissatisfied, as he pulled the medical supply cart closer and reached for one of the lower compartments. Heero watched him mutely, panting harshly through clenched teeth. His nude chest heaved hurriedly up and down with short, panicked breaths. ECT electrodes were still plastered over his pale and scarred torso, the wires stretching as his chest moved in a frantic rhythm.

"You've obviously lost your mind," Dr. Sloan determined while bending down to retrieve an instrument's tray from the lower shelf. He placed it next to the one already resting on the supply cart. The new tray was covered with a piece of green cloth. Heero's eyes darted towards it anxiously.

"TR can do that sometimes," Sloan mumbled thoughtfully, sighing. "Maybe I've gone too far. Too much trauma in too few sessions," he deduced as he unclothed the tray, revealing three glimmering surgical scalpels, the dildo vibrator he had used before and a manual-hand-mixer-like tool with a rotary handle and gear, only instead of an egg beater, the tool had a small metal claw at the tip.

"There's no reasoning with you anymore..." the doctor concluded sadly and snatched a pair of latex gloves out of a box also resting on the cart. He put them on, snapping the rubber band around his wrists. He turned to Heero, scowling at him with stern, disappointed, eyes.

"Chances are that you won't succumb to physical torture," he said as he turned to prepare another injection of Magic, testing the syringe before administering the shot; "but I just don't know what else to do with you, Heero..." he sighed and injected the drug straight into Heero's arm this time. The young man offered little resistance; all he could manage was shrugging his shoulder ever so slightly in a useless attempt to avoid the needle plunging into his arm. Fed directly into his vein instead of the IV fluids, the drug spread rapidly through his system, taking immediate effect. Reality slowly blended into a hazy dream; time and place gradually losing significance.

Dr. Sloan placed the empty syringe back on the tray and picked up the rotary-geared claw. Turning to face Heero, he began rotating the gear, opening the claw slowly. It creaked, and Heero's eyes widened, before snapping shut. His whole body tensed. He clenched his eyes shut tightly in a useless effort to block out the sound.

Sloan continued rotating the lever, opening and closing the small metal claw, thus creating a persistent rhythm of the metallic creaking sound.

Heero bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing blood. He squeezed his eyes even tighter, shaking his head in useless denial. The sound drowned him nonetheless, overwhelming his sense of self. He was unable to block it out. It pulled him under, erasing who he was. Tears gathered behind his closed eyes. He was losing himself... drowning. He fought to resurface for air, but the sound was resilient...

"I need you to tell me about your choice," the doctor commanded coldly. It was Dr. J speaking... commanding... only it wasn't. It was Sloan, he reminded himself. It was just Sloan. He never talked to Sloan... never told him anything... never willingly... He was right not to trust him, but what difference did it make now? Sloan has already won. He mustn't give him the satisfaction of getting this one last thing out of him. He had to fight... resist... resist the claw... just ignore it... ignore it...

 **TELL ME** , the Voice commanded.

"No..." Heero groaned through clenched teeth, shaking his head helplessly from side to side. It was Sloan. Not J. _Not_ J... He didn't have to obey... Resist the claw... resist! Tears poured down his pale and stubbly cheeks. He couldn't! There wasn't enough of him left... nothing solid enough to fight, to resist.

J told him to shoot so he did. Five men dropped to the floor with each shot and he didn't even blink. He watched them burn, cremated... but one of them was still alive. J told him to keep looking – to never again avert his eyes – and he never did. Men went down screaming all around him, but he didn't even blink. Sometimes he'd laugh – a strange and manic laughter would fill his ears inside the cockpit and he would realize that he was the one laughing. He laughed because he could never cry, and he had to let the terrible feeling out _somehow_ while being forced to listen to them scream over the open com as they were incinerated inside a burning cockpit. So many of them dead... burnt alive, just like the man in the crematorium... just because J had said so; and if J said something, he did it. Resistance was futile...

 **TELL ME** , the Voice repeated harshly; **WHO SHOULD WE CALL?**

"F-fuck... you..." he hissed, panting, fighting to keep sane and remind himself that it wasn't J talking. It was the Voice— it was _Sloan_. He will resist him for as long as he possibly could. He refused to go down like this – He won't! Not again. He will not lose himself again, not to this man. He had to save what little of him was left... He had to preserve it long enough to die without giving the Voice what it wanted...

But then Sloan switched the ECT machine on, and Heero was suddenly too overwhelmed with pain to resist the pull. He went down thrashing and screaming.

*     *     *

" _Urgh!_ " Relena groaned loudly as she was thrust against a wall, naked flesh and plaster colliding with a meaty _'smack!'_ She had just been thrown against the headboard wall in Heero's bedroom, shirtless and panting, her black-lace bra heaving up and down with each rapid breath. The bed had a thick wooden frame; the headboard's ledge was just wide enough to sit on. She sat there, pressed against the wall, watching her partner with lust-clouded eyes.

The mattress creaked when Duo stepped closer, walking towards her on the bed until he had her pinned between his hard body and the wall. He was fully clothed in black, still wearing Heero's Preventer jacket, and holding Relena's lavender sweater clutched in his fist. A drunken shine gleamed in his lusty cobalt blue eyes. He let the garment drop onto the bed, grabbed Relena's arms by her wrists and held them stretched up above her head, pinned to the wall. He forced her legs open with one knee and she welcomed him by resting the soles of her feet on the headboard, spreading her legs widely. Liquor flushed her cheeks red and shameless lust ran small tremors through her heated body.

It had started out innocently enough; just a meaningless make-out session between two drunk and heartbroken people trying to connect, to ease their shared anxiety and pain. The Jameson took over, allowing her to forget that the heady combination of cologne, leather, cigarettes and the scent of whisky engulfing her didn't belong to a substitute for love. If she closed her eyes, she didn't have to acknowledge that she was with Duo, she could just picture herself with Heero...

He stood towering over her, his strong presence as solid, powerful and demanding as Heero's. She trembled all over, hungry for touch, heat... for the fierce passion she knew so well. Her breasts heaved heavily up and down with needy, panting, breath. He tore off her bra, throwing it aside. His callous hands cupped her swollen bosoms, massaging ruthlessly. His fingers pinched her erect nipples, twisting until it _hurt_. She gasped loudly, tilting her head back against the wall, her face contracting in pain/pleasure.

"He does that..." she whispered, smiling wistfully and keeping her eyes closed so she won't lose the fantasy.

"I know..." Duo's lust-heavy voice rasped back; she could hear him fumbling with his belt and zipper. He leaned down towards her, supporting himself against the wall. The heat and familiar scents of his body engulfed her, chasing reality away once more. She wrapped her legs around him, welcoming his hard manhood while thinking of another's.

He fucked her mercilessly, pounding her into the wall. The headboard banged loudly with each of his violet thrusts. He had her arms pinned over her head again – in complete control. Total dominance, just the way Heero liked it. She loved every minute of it even though she never did. It was so familiar, so much like _him_... and she missed him so much.

Tears gathered behind her closed eyes while a rumbling orgasm gradually built-up between her legs. She kept her eyes closed tightly, panting through gaping lips and allowed Duo to bring her over the edge. When rapture washed over her, she came calling out Heero's name.

*     *     *

Sloan slammed the vibrator into him roughly, and Heero screamed, throwing his head aside wildly. His legs were propped up on the stirrups again, forced wide open and restrained. His nude body was marred with thin and bleeding cuts. The surgical scar running from the bottom of his neck and down to his navel had been sliced open; a thick bloody gash marring his torso at the center. Blood sheeted down the sides of his naked body, soaking the reclined chair. The ECT electrodes on his chest were drenched with blood, but no longer pumping voltage into his mutilated body. His fingers were broken, resting in odd and unnatural angles against the chair; each one has been crushed by the rotary claw. The leather bonds around his wrists were also caked with clotted blood; the delicate flesh around each wrist raw and bleeding after countless useless attempts to break free. His hair was drenched with sweat, long bangs plastered over his pale and bristly face. His facial features were the only patch of skin that wasn't cut or bleeding, though they were tortured nonetheless, set in an anguished and grimacing expression.

"S-stop..." he begged, sobbing the word out in despair while Sloan fucked him ruthlessly with the vibrator. Reality was fading away... It was getting harder and harder to remind himself that he wasn't back in the hands of those three brutes at the museum. He could feel their filthy hands creeping out of the Shadows, advancing towards him... ready to pull him under and drag him back into the darkness where they will have their way with him once more...

"No..." he pleaded, weeping hysterically; "P-please... Stop... Don't... don't take me back there... not again... stop..."

"Not until you agree to make that call," Sloan grunted irately, thrusting the vibrator faster. Heero whimpered, shaking his head miserably.

"I won't... I won't..." he rasped over and over. The Shadows were all over him now, their slimy hands slithering over his abused flesh. They plunged him into the nightmare, shoving his head down under dark waters. He gasped for air, but it was too late. The apes ganged up on him, squealing madly. They grabbed him by his ankles, pulling him towards their lair. He tried to crawl away, squirming on the ground like a pitiable worm, but they were too strong. He clawed at the floor with his fingers in a futile attempt to resist being dragged into hell. His fingernails cracked and broke, leaving ten bloody trails of desperation on the floor. The apes squealed and hollered in delight once they had him in their filthy pit. Darkness swallowed him whole. His clothes were ripped off his body. He was tugged and pulled by feral arms. They were going to devour him...

"No!" he sobbed in despair; "No... No... Please – _NOOO!!!_ "

*     *     *

"Aww... _YESSS!!!_ "

She came once, sobbing out Heero's name, but Duo wasn't done. He threw her onto the bed and she landed on her hands and knees, still shaking from a powerful orgasm, yet so terribly hot for more. The mattress yielded under his weight as he walked past her and jumped off the bed. He grabbed her by her hips and yanked her closer to the edge of the bed where he stood, ready to sheath himself inside her once more. She remained on all fours while he stood behind her, just tall enough, and thrust in deep. She groaned in ecstasy as his thick manhood filled her aching need. He fucked her like a bitch, thrusting mercilessly and with unbelievable stamina. His crushing grip dug into her hipbones, mixing pleasure and pain. He was going to make her come again, but she won't let him; not yet.

She pulled away and he grunted, disappointed. She turned around slowly, still on her hands and knees, so that she was facing his screaming-red manhood. She took him into her mouth and he let out a low, rumbling groan. She smirked and reached one hand up to cup his balls, massaging gently. She sucked him off just the way he liked it... the way Heero liked it. Duo seemed to recognize the moves; perhaps Heero liked to give it the same way he liked to receive it, she thought dimly. She felt like she had a lot to prove; she was determined to outdo herself. She made him come by the skill of her tongue and he exploded with a shuddering orgasm, shooting his seed into her mouth while rasping a breathless "Jesus..."

She pulled back, finally opening her eyes, smirking. She looked up at him, using the back of her hand to wipe the dripping cum and saliva from her mouth and chin. Duo snarled at her; he had a score to settle.

He shoved her by the shoulders and she landed flat on her backside, legs dangling off the bed. He knelt between her legs, pushing them open, and leaned his head in. She closed her eyes, throwing an arm over them, her mouth gaping open breathlessly as his hot wet tongue slipped carefully between her legs. She struggled to summon back the fantasy she had held onto before, but nothing about the way he went down on her reminded her of Heero. Duo didn't know her as well as Heero did; it wasn't the same. Her mind started drifting.

She realized that they forgot to use a condom and wondered if there were any left in Heero's nightstand. She used to have this bad habit of counting how many were left in the package each time she dropped by, curious to know if he was still sleeping around like had done in DC. She knew of his nightly conquests; he never bothered hiding traces of the many women who had spent the night in his bedroom. It wasn't surprising; after all, she was not the only one who found him utterly irresistible. The power and confidence he radiated, the sheer resolve in his intense blue eyes when he approached with sex in mind, were overwhelming. He didn't even have to make an effort. He could just _sit there_ and women will be drawn to him like months to a flame. He probably had to beat them off with a stick. And if he was the one to make the move, there was just no saying 'no' to him, although he never forced the issue if one did refuse his straight-forward advances, as she had done many times before, eventually driving him off to seek the company of others.

It got harder keeping track of his one-night-stands once he moved to New York. She would search his nightstand every chance she got and she would always find the same brand of condoms, allegedly the same pack, because the number of condoms left inside was always consistent with the number of visits she had paid to his apartment. Either he was done searching for sex with no strings attached, or he knew she was looking and kept that pack just to ease her mind. In any case, after a while, she stopped keeping count. It has been a long time since they slept together anyway... since August, was it?

Yes, she remembered. It was a hot and muggy summer day and Heero was all sweaty under his black business suit when he met her in City Hall Park, a short walk from Preventer HQ. Back then he had been working as an A-SAC in Cyber and therefore was required to wear a suit. His unruly bangs were plastered over his damp forehead and he wiped them aside when he noticed her approach, trying to appear presentable, which was flattering. It was a spontaneous get-together, for she hadn't planned on being in New York that month, and meeting for coffee before jumping into bed together made their short encounter feel less like a booty-call and more like a reunion between old friends. By the afternoon hours, they ended up in his bedroom anyway, but at least they gave each other the courtesy of some small talk first.

The sex was hot and steamy, just like the burdensome weather. The smell of salty sweat was in the air. She loved the stench of his sweat. They didn't even make it to the bed and wound up on the floor right next to it – Heero on top, pinning her beneath him. She recalled how he had suddenly ceased his fervent advances and paused to gawk anxiously at the nightstand as though he had just realized he had dispatched for battle without carrying any ammo. He flung a hand towards the drawer and she stopped him, panting heavily and shaking her head. "It's okay," she rasped; "we're safe..." she assured him, knowing exactly what kind of mistake he feared to repeat, but trying not to let it bother her; "I just want to feel you..." she moaned and pulled him back down. He debated the issue for a second more before giving up on protection and diving back in, eager to oblige her request.

Heero was fierce, like fire. He went all _caveman_ on her and for once she didn't mind his primal zeal. He wanted her badly and after over two months apart, she was so unbelievingly hot for him too, no matter how ferocious were his moves. His desperation was rather gratifying; she hoped it meant that he was no longer exorcising his demons on other partners.

She struggled to recapture that heat, running images in her head, trying to recall all those nights of unbridled passion spent in Heero's bed. She held onto those memories firmly, calling back the heat until it erupted from her body with a shuddering groan.

*     *     *

Sloan plucked the vibrator out with an audible wet _'pop!'_

Heero whimpered in relief. His insides throbbed, but at least he was finally empty. He could breathe again without shrilling out pitiable pleas.

The apes retreated, leaving his mangled body on the filthy floor. Everything hurt so badly. He couldn't distinguish between one ache to another, but that was okay as long as he remained empty...

The reprieve was short lived, because soon a new pain flared to life, incinerating him from the inside-out. The ECT machine whirred loudly and his whole body tensed, arching off the chair.

Sloan injected him with another dose of Magic. It burnt in his veins like a toxic waste. He was burning, consumed by acid flames. Just like the man he was forced to shoot and then throw into the crematorium – he was being burnt alive!!!

"NO!" Heero shrieked in panic, sobbing hysterically; "I didn't know he was still alive! I didn't know!" he howled mournfully, wailing like the child that he was while witnessing the flames devoured that miserable moaning man...

"I didn't know! I didn't know! I'm sorry! I didn't know!!!"

He could smell charred flesh again... that stench that never left his nose, only this time it was his own. The pain intensified. The fire seethed through his mangled body; sweltering heat blistered his skin, scorching his insides. There was no mouth-guard to protect him this time and he bit his tongue, immediately tasting copper. Blood gushed down his unshaven chin, dripping from the corners of his trembling lips. There was blood everywhere. And fire... a battlefield flooded with the agonized cries of the pilots he had slaughtered. They were being incinerated alive inside their cockpits. He could hear them scream. They were all shrieking at once, their horrified shrills echoing in his head. Those cries will always be there; an eternal testimony of the suffering he had caused. He was so sorry... He was so – so! – sorry!

Hopeless tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the blood. He gasped loudly for air, drowning in his own blood. It trickled down his throat, suffocating him. He gurgled sickly, fighting to breathe. A broken sob tore from his bloody lips. He wailed in despair, crumbling to smithereens. He wanted this torture to end... he wanted the screaming to stop, for his victims to finally leave him alone... to be quiet. He had no idea that the desperate howling was in fact his own:

"Stop!" he begged, sobbing and coughing out blood; "Please! Please stop! I'll talk! I'll choose! Please! Please stop! I'll tell you! I'll call! Please... just stop... Please – _STOP!!!_ "

*     *     *

"Oh God! Don't stop! Don't stop! Oh God... Don't stop!" Relena moaned and gasped. Her fists gripped the bedcovers tightly. She thrashed beneath Duo, legs thrown up in the air as he fucked her thoroughly.

"Fuck, woman, you're insatiable!" he grunted, thrusting wildly.

The bed banged stridently against the wall. The mattress creaked noisily. The sounds mixed with her loud groaning and Duo's huffing grunts. The racket drowned out everything else, including the sound of Relena's cellphone which was tucked into her jeans, lying on the floor. So caught up in their attempt to escape the burden of reality, neither of them heard it and therefore they were not aware of the three missed calls registering on the smartphone screen, all of them logged under _'Heero'_.

And since Duo had deliberately left his cellphone in the sink of his hotel bathroom, there was no way he could have known that it was currently ringing, and that the caller ID also read _'Heero'_. Three attempts were made to call him, before Duo's phone also fell silent, the screen went dark and only a small beeping light signaled the missed calls.

*     *     *

Dr. Sloan released an irked sigh and disconnected the call. He put Heero's smartphone down, scowling angrily.

"He's not answering either," he told Heero, who was convulsing wildly on the chair, electrocuted. The young man's nude body was littered with bloody cuts, his flesh maimed by surgical knives. Fresh blood and saliva sheeted down his bristly chin and his lips were badly injured after he had bitten them in the midst of a violent seizure. He was barely conscious, but electric currents forced his eyes to remain wide open. He was looking at Sloan through tear-bleary eyes; tears streaked his hollow cheeks while he begged silently for the redemption he had been promised.

The doctor glared down at him accusingly.

"You're going to have to leave a message," he said snappily, preparing another shot of Magic. Heero whimpered weakly, closing his eyes and the needle plunged into his bloodied arm once more.

*     *     *

Duo pulled away and Relena slumped against the bed with a tired, satiated whimper. He sat up, turning his back to her as he settled on the edge of Heero's bed, his naked legs dangling to the floor and a blanket pooled around his naked waist. Relena rolled over, grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to her neck, hiding her nakedness. Duo reached for his cigarettes, resting on the nightstand. He lit one up and took a quick, nervous, drag. Relena lay behind him, the blanket drawn up to her neck as she stared at the ceiling in guilty silence. Her eyes spotted a stain on the ceiling, one that vaguely resembled a winged figure. She stared at it dully, a miserable shine in her blue eyes. What have they done?

Duo inhaled deeply and released a despondent sigh. "You're the second girl I've ever slept with..." he mumbled dully and took another puff on his smoke while staring miserably down at the floor. Relena kept her gaze fixed on the abstract figure on the ceiling.

"How'd I do then?" she whispered.

"I'm still gay, if that's what you mean," Duo grunted and she let out a short, bitter, snicker.

"I never thought otherwise," she scoffed.

Duo hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands, holding the cigarette between two fingers. "God..." he groaned into his hands, feeling awful; "This is fucked up."

"It didn't mean anything," Relena hurried to say. She closed her eyes sadly. "We miss him, that's all. It was the Jameson..."

"Yeah..." Duo sighed and straightened back up, running his free hand through his shoulder-length hair. "Sure. We'll go with that..." he finished with another sigh and stood up, taking a drag on his smoke. He grabbed his clothes and shoes off the floor, leaving Heero's Preventer jacket behind, and left the bedroom without another word. He walked into the bathroom.

After taking one last drag on his cigarette, he threw it into the toilet and relieved himself, watching numbly as the dark-yellow urine drowned the floating cigarette; black ashes stained the water around it. He gawked at the filth miserably, unable to shake off the terrible feeling brewing in his chest. No matter how drunk and desperate, he never should have fucked her. She was Heero's girl! What the Hell were they thinking?!

Angry, Duo hit the flush handle and then got dressed, slipping back into his black sweater and jeans. Next he turned to the vanity in search for some painkillers to ease the terrible headache forming between his temples. He searched the small cabinet until he found a drawer full of prescription bottles and rummaged through them one by one. Most of them contained psychiatric medication; SSRI scripts prescribed to Heero by Dr. Sloan. There were also a few over-the-counter drugs, mostly cold and migraine medicine, along with generic pain relievers. He chose a brand he recognized, popped one tablet out of the pack and gulped it down dry, tilting his head back as he swallowed.

He slammed the drawer shut and opened the faucet. Leaning over the sink, he splashed some water on his face and then applied some to his choppy hair, raking it back with his fingers. He straightened up, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit: his face pale, bags under his eyes and his wet hair spiking behind his ears. The improvised haircut needed some tweaking, but that should be the _last_ thing on his mind right now; the first should definitely be coffee. He needed coffee.

He put his shoes back on and opened the bathroom door. He immediately bumped into Relena. The young woman had just stepped out of the bedroom. She was holding a blanket wrapped around her nude body. He tried to move out of the way, but then she tried to do the same and they ended up blocking each other's path again. They stopped, looking at each other awkwardly.

"Coffee?" Duo asked uneasily, casting his gaze down to avoid her eyes. God... he never should have fucked her... and on Heero's bed too!

"Shower first," she murmured, also uncomfortable; she was thinking the same thing. They were going to Hell for this.

Duo nodded, stepping aside. She walked into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind her, while he headed to the kitchen.

He filled the electric kettle and waited for the water to boil, tapping his fingers restlessly on the countertop. He regretted leaving his smokes back in the bedroom and then he remembered the Skittles drawer. He pulled it open and reached deep inside, his fingers searching blindly behind the piles of open Skittles packets until they encountered the familiar feel of a cigarette box. Duo smiled, just a small and sad tug upwards of his lips, and retrieved a pack of Winston Blue. He used the stove burner to light up a cigarette and then leaned against the countertop, smoking.

Bored, he scanned the small kitchen, running his eyes over the counter. He spotted the three prescription bottles Heero had left by the sink. He picked one up, the cigarette in his other hand, and scanned over the label just to pass the time. It was an MAOI prescription, used to treat depression and social anxiety; he was familiar with the brand because he had researched such medication back when he still thought he needed it to get back to work after Joe died.

Slowly bringing the cigarette up to his lips, he took a thoughtful puff, frowning. He held the burning butt pressed between his lips and reached his free hand towards the other two bottles. His eyes skimmed over the prescription labels hastily and a wary scowl formed on his harsh face.

"This can't be right..." he muttered with the cigarette between his lips and then spat it out, throwing it into the sink. He raised both hands up, looking carefully at all three bottles, just to make sure his hung-over mind wasn't playing tricks on him. One bottle was the MAOI prescription; the second was a popular brand of antianxiety medication and the third was the same SSRI script he'd seen in the bathroom vanity, only in a higher dosage. Those should _not_ be mixed – right?

He was no doctor, but he clearly recalled the fuss Dr. Gavin had made when he asked her from some antianxiety meds after Joe died. She claimed that she couldn't, because he was already prescribed with SSRIs and there was _absolute_ contraindication in combination of SSRI and MAOI scripts, not to mention a severe to fatal physical effects, as well as substantial cognitive effects, when combining them with anxiolytic medication to treat anxiety. He had begged her for the damn drugs so he could go back to work as a semi-normal and somewhat-functional person, assuring her again and again that he wasn't using the damn SSRIs, and still she refused. She said that no psychiatrist in their right mind would prescribe such a dangerous – potentially lethal – combination based on mere assurances of a clearly disturbed patient. For all she knew he could be doing drugs again – which he was – and she would never risk it.

The water in the kettle reached the boiling point, bubbling loudly.

Duo slammed the bottles back on the counter.

Heero had been drugged; deliberately over-dosed on psychiatric medication. No wonder he wasn't himself. The symptoms Shaw had described suddenly made perfect sense: clumsiness, drowsiness, forgetfulness and poor judgment... even his inability to quit smoking – those could all be blamed on this wrongful combination of drugs. Duo could only reach one conclusion: someone was trying to get Heero to OD on those damn pills... He's been poisoned by _Sloan!_

"Jesus— **_FUCK!_** " Duo exclaimed furiously and punched the countertop. He shoved the MAOI and SSRI bottles into his pocket – the first solid piece of evidence in this whole damn case – and, moving hastily, he dashed towards the fridge and reached up to grab the gun Heero had forgotten there. He shoved it into his waistband and ran out of the kitchen.

In the sink, the cigarette burnt out, raising a last column of smoke.

Car-keys jingled loudly as they were snatched in haste.

Duo left the apartment in a hurry, slamming the door behind him. The small residence remained silent, aside for the faint sound of running water; Relena was still in the shower.

On the bedroom floor, her smartphone beeped to announce that a voice message has been received.

*     *     *

 


	14. BPH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Seated behind the wheel of Heero's black SUV, Duo raced down Broadway, maneuvering recklessly between moving vehicles. The engine whirred loudly as the car sped over 80 mph, tires screeching each time he took sharp and dangerous turns to overtake traffic. It was past midnight and traffic was relatively thin.

"Are you _sure_?!" Agent Shaw's astounded voice burst out the car-phone hanging from the dashboard.

"Fuck yeah!" Duo grunted anxiously, "I'm tellin' ya – he's been messin' with us all along!"

"How—" she argued, but Duo cut in:

"I'll be at PFO in five minutes—" he huffed breathlessly— "Get over here – _now!_ "

*     *     *

Dawn was breaking over Manhattan; a thin sliver of light cracking the foggy horizon. Heero stood on the thick concrete banister on PFO's 52nd floor, silently observing the first rays of sunlight appear beyond the East River and Brooklyn Bridge, slicing the fog. Snow-covered rooftops spread to his feet as far as the white snowy-fog allowed him to see. It was nearly impossible to distinguish the ground. He stood on the ledge of the tall skyscraper, watching the icy world below.

It never snowed this much in New York, but time itself seemed to have frozen, covering the world in white. Everything stood eerily still. The streets were bare: no traffic, no people, not even the faintest of sounds. Only silence and snow engulfed the massive structures and roads below. Time has stopped at the crack of an eternal dawn. The uncanny stillness was unnerving, but peaceful. Heero inhaled cool air into his lungs and closed his eyes, allowing serenity to wash over him.

He was wearing his Preventer uniform. The thick leather jacket protected him from the icy breeze. Snowflakes descended mutely onto his hair and shoulders. Strangely enough, his feet were bare; freezing. He was standing barefoot on the cold concrete ledge – he was dreaming.

Heero bowed his head and looked down at the foggy plaza below. It was covered with a thick layer of snow. His eyes searched the glowing white surface for a familiar presence, but there was none. The plaza was empty, not a footprint to be seen.

He turned around to face the foggy balcony. His stoic expression did not waver even as he spotted the lone figure standing a few feet away: Relena. She stood before him, wearing a plain white dress, her long blonde hair undone and tousled by the cool breeze. The light of dawn glittered in her cerulean blue eyes, shattered and reflected by her tears. Washed by a soft halo of light and fog, she looked like an angel of mercy.

Relena looked up. Their eyes met. Heero gazed upon her quietly and she looked back, expressionless.

"Till I met you I... I used to think that I... that I wasn't even real. That I wasn't deserving of being regarded as a person..."

The words poured out of him freely. He was looking into her tearful blue eyes, unable to hold back any longer. He had exhaled what might have been his last few breaths leaving her this message, but he couldn't go without saying these things to her face. Here, standing on the ledge between life and death, he was free to speak the words clearly and coherently. Unlike being on that chair, tortured and succumbed by pain, he didn't have to gasp them out in tears. This was a last chance to get his message across, to leave after everything has been said and done. Although an illusion, this was the only closure he was ever going to get – so he'll take it.

"I was sure that I wasn't any good..." he continued, whispering; "...not good enough to be regarded as the person you believed me to be. Growing up the way I did, I... I mean, that's what they've always told me," he tried to explain, struggling to articulate thoughts and feeling he had never dared sharing with her before. "That's what they wanted me to be... the only thing they allowed. They made me into a killer, a weapon... an instrument to do bad... but never a human being."

She bowed her head down sadly, trying to conceal how sorry she felt for him.

"You've changed that," he declared and she raised her head up again, looking at him with hopeful blue eyes. He offered her forlorn little smile.

"You made me realize that I could be so much more," he said and she smiled back sadly, looking at him with tearful blue eyes. He bowed his head down slightly; his smile fading and his expression turning sullen, sorrowful. He couldn't look her in the eye for this part:

"After all we've been through together I... I know what kind of person I can be; I've become more than a soldier, more than just a weapon. I'm nothing like what they wanted me to be: I... I can be someone capable of feeling... loving... hurting. I can't help it anymore, it just happens... and I thank you for that, because now I know I can also be good... and that I'm good enough not to deserve this...  this... this _hurt_. This... what we have... it's... I don't have to settle for this because it's safe... comfortable. It hurts too much to be this comfortable, to rely on you to ease this hurt when you're also the source of it..."

He looked up again carefully. His words were hurting her, he could tell, though she continued standing there silently, listening while tears streamed slowly down her porcelain-white cheeks. He had to say the rest, no matter how hurtful:

"I know now that I don't have to feel this way anymore, loving you so much that I almost hate you. It's... it's too much, you see..." he tried to explain to the best of his abilities, stumbling over words and feelings he had buried and denied; "It's tearing me apart... the love and the hate. There's so much anger and it's... it's tainted everything, and I don't want it to be tainted. It can't be like... I don't want to repeat the same mistakes I made with him. Never talking... never sharing anything real... hiding what I feel... and I feel so angry with you, Relena... I can't say it in a way that would make sense, but I'm so angry... and I... I know I shouldn't be... it's not your fault. I still love you so much. I know I never said it, but I do. I... I just can't do this anymore. It's... The ambivalence is too much. It hurts too much. I can't breathe when I'm with you."

She nodded, bowing her head down shamefully, accepting his verdict as he knew she would. She was probably expecting this; this speech was long overdue. He hoped that this last message will release her from her bonds, from her commitment towards him. He trusted that she'll understand, and move on. She deserved far better than a guy who was so messed up he couldn't even decide whether he loved or hated her. She deserved so much better than him.

"I don't want to end up solely hating you," he continued quietly, grimacing because it hurt to say those words out loud, exposing feelings he's been denying for almost two years. "Losing the love I feel towards you... I don't want that, but loving you _hurts._ And I keep falling back on you when it hurts... even though loving you is what hurts the most. That's why I can't choose you this time, Lena. I have to break this cycle. I... I'm sorry..." he finished with a pained whisper. Tears now streaked his face as well, sliding down his clean-shaven cheeks. In this hazy dream state, his handsome face showed no trace of the torture he had endured.

"This is goodbye," he added softly, looking into her eyes with a silent apology. Relena looked back, never saying a word, and a small eternity passed by in silent understanding. He had gotten his final message across.

A movement in the corner of his eyes suddenly caught Heero's attention. He whirled his head aside to catch it before it was gone, barely managing to get a glimpse of a small blonde figure running across the balcony and disappearing behind a corner. Though he had just caught a short glance at her waving dark-blonde hair, he had no doubt in his heart that the small figure was Elizabeth.

His eyes darted back in Relena's direction, expecting her to react _somehow_ to the sight of their dead daughter, but she merely stood there, silent and unmoving. He realized that she wasn't going to act and all of a sudden he was running barefoot along the thick concrete banister, chasing after his child's ghost. Panting, Heero sprinted as fast as he could, his feet never wavering as he ran along the ledge surrounding the building. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't catch up. Elizabeth was always just around the corner, but never within reach. He circled the balcony twice chasing after her giggling little figure; she was playing a game of tag. On the third round she suddenly turned towards the building and stepped in through the balcony doors. He didn't think and quickly jumped off the banister, hurrying after her. He pushed the doors open in mid-run, stumbling through in a rush. The moment his eyes managed to process where he was, he stopped dead in his tracks, gasping.

He hasn't entered PFO's top floor. Instead he had just stumbled in through the emergency-exit door leading from the back of the Natural History Museum's IMAX Theater to the Human Origin Hall.

His heart pounded frantically in his chest. His feet numbed, refusing to take another step into the dim exhibition hall. He stood at the doorway, paralyzed by fear, his anxious eyes scanning the dark gallery for his daughter. The Apes watched him from their habitats, silently observing him with dead glass eyes. Trying to avoid them, Heero's eyes darted left and right, bouncing nervously from one corner to another. They were everywhere, no matter where he looked. If he stepped inside, they will pounce on him in a second... but then he heard Elizabeth's small childish giggle and suddenly his feet no longer cared what he thought or feared; they moved all on their own and carried him inside.

He ran hastily between shadowy prehistoric habitats. Menacing apish figures followed him with dead glass eyes. Their feral growls echoed in the dark. He ignored their hungry glares and focused on his Elizabeth's constantly retreating figure. He continued to chase after his dead daughter.

*     *     *

"Turn the car back around!" Agent Shaw's voice blasted through Heero's car-phone the second Duo took her call. By the sound of it, she was also driving. He was just a few seconds away from Preventer's NYC office; the massive skyscraper already towered before him.

"Da fuck!" he demanded with annoyance but still whirled around to look out the rear windshield, one hand on the wheel and the other on the passenger seat's headrest, as he backed the car up against traffic flowing down Broadway, aiming for a turn he had just missed.

"Because I just got off the phone with Agent Malone and his guy in Intelligence Analysis," Shaw explained tensely.

Duo dodged a few honking vehicles while driving in reverse.

"We did some quick digging," the agent continued; "That sob-of-a-bitch fits the profile..." she muttered bitterly; "and we think we know where he is. I'm sending you the address now," she added and before she even finished her sentence the video in-dash unit's screen beeped and lit up, displaying a GPS-guided map zooming in on Duo's current location. A small textbox displayed his destination: 30th and 1st. ETA: 13 minutes.

"Where da Hell are you sending me?" Duo huffed as he turned off Broadway to Worth, speeding towards FDR Drive so he could head back uptown.

"The old Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital," Shaw explained breathlessly; he could hear honking vehicles in the background. She was probably speeding over the limit trying to get to PFO.

"Sloan did his internship there back when the place was still running," she added; "Malone thinks it's a safe bet. The place has been abandoned for over two decades now. He's got to be holed up in there somewhere, we're sure. Are you armed?"

"Bet your ass I am," Duo hissed the words out dangerously while glaring at the Brooklyn Bridge as it loomed up ahead, filling the windshield with its enormous presence. He took a sharp turn to get on FDR Drive, racing over 90 mph.

"Then get up there," Shaw ordered; "I'll get a SWAT team ready and be right behind you. Thirty minutes, tops," she said and disconnected the call.

Duo's eyes darted towards the in-dash navigation system, studying the route ahead. Bellevue was a mere five-minute drive from Heero's place, meaning that he's been less than two miles away that whole _fucking_ time! Somehow, that only made Duo angrier, like he should have known that Heero was near... should have felt it. He should have done _something_ ,because Heero was only two _lousy_ miles away from him that whole evening, and instead of finding him he had been fucking _Relena!_

*     *     *

Elizabeth disappeared behind a corner, leaving the Human Origin Hall. Heero ran after her, thankful to be leaving that cursed exhibition room. He ran down a long dim corridor, venturing deeper into the museum. Turning another corner, he managed to catch a glimpse of his little girl disappearing behind another thick door. He hurried to follow.

This time, he found himself stumbling into his old DC apartment. The place stood bare and empty: polished light hardwood flooring, bare beige walls, no carpet, drapes or fixtures and not a trace of his belongings and furniture. This was after he had vacated the place and left for New York.

The small residence was silent. The balcony doors were wide open, revealing a magnificent view of Capitol Hill at dawn. Heero looked around in confusion. Why was he back here again? He had left this place behind for a reason... Why did he keep coming back here?

His question was answered by a deafening gunshot slicing through the early-morning silence. Heero winced, recoiling back a step when he felt a pang in his chest. Looking down at himself, he saw that he'd been shot. His heart was bleeding, a gush of crimson soaking the khaki dress-shirt he wore under his Preventer jacket, oozing slowly from an open wound. He reached a hand up slowly, wiping some of the blood away and turning to look at it in eerie fascination. It didn't hurt, because the bleeding wasn't real. He wasn't the one who's been shot, but his heart was bleeding just the same.

Tears flooded his eyes, blurring his vision. He lowered his bloody hand down slowly and turned to look in the corridor's direction. His legs felt too heavy, unmovable. He could barely lift them off the floor to manage a single step, yet forced himself to keep moving. He walked dreadfully towards the small den – the room where Elizabeth had shot herself. He was being offered another chance for closure, and he planned on taking it.

The door was only partially open, concealing most of the room. He stopped at the doorway, afraid to push it open and take a look inside. Bowing his head down instead, he noted something lying at his feet. It was a small pink bunny doll. It lay discarded on the floor, drenched in blood.

Heero crouched down and scooped the small stuffed toy off the floor. Once he held it in his hand his tears overflowed. He studied the toy miserably. He remembered crying over his daughter while hugging this poor ragged doll so hard it was crushed beyond recognition. He didn't take it with him to New York. It was all that was left of his child... and he had thrown it away.

Wiping away his tears, Heero rose carefully back up to his feet, holding the bunny-doll limply in his hand. He kept his head bowed, gazing wretchedly at the small pink toy. He shouldn't have left it behind. He shouldn't have thrown it away. He shouldn't have taken it away from her. He remembered how devastated he had felt when his stepfather took away his favorite toy just to hurt him... the memory was so vivid and Heero realized that he was no better. He regretted it so much. He should have kept her bunny. He should have taken it to her small grave... so she won't be alone.

A sob burnt in his throat and he fought to suppress it. An onslaught of emotions threatened to tear him down. He took a deep breath, braced himself and looked up, facing the partly ajar door. This was his chance to rectify.

Holding the bunny in one hand, he placed the other on the doorknob and then slowly pushed the door open the rest of the way. He closed his eyes, afraid of what he was about to see, and stepped into the room where his daughter's life had extinguished. His eyes flung wide open when he suddenly realized that there was no floor beneath his foot – he was about to fall!

He flung two arms aside in a frantic attempt to steady himself. Looking around anxiously, he found himself standing on the ledge of his DC apartment building, twelve stories high, looking out at Capitol Hill washed by the pale gray light of a snowy dawn. An icy wind was blowing; it was so cold. The concrete beneath his bare feet was freezing, biting into his flesh. He clasped his Preventer jacket close to his bleeding chest and the bloodied pink bunny doll slipped from his grasp. He watched with stony eyes as it plummeted down and landed in the thorny rose bushes twelve stories below. Once it hit the ground, it shattered loudly like cracking glass, because it was never a stuffed toy that fell off the roof that day, but rather a half-empty bottle of Jameson whiskey which was now lying scattered in small pieces of green glass across the snowy garden below.

"And here we are _again_ ," Dr. Wright's voice spoke from somewhere behind him and Heero slowly turned around to face the man. His former-therapist stood with him on the roof, keeping a safe distance from the ledge, his hands tucked into his jeans' pockets and his cheerful red/white Christmas sweater painfully standing out in such a dreary atmosphere.

"You can't chase her beyond this point," the doctor reminded him softly; "not unless you finally step off this ledge," he added as he gestured at the drop with his head.

"I know," Heero mumbled quietly, his tormented eyes staring down at the ground while he held the jacket closed tightly against his wounded chest, like a blanket.

"I won't stop you this time," Wright warned; "This is entirely up to you."

"I'm dying?" Heero wondered, staring down at the snowy garden.

"Your body can't take much more of this torture," Wright confirmed sadly. "This is it, Heero, you have to choose. What will it be this time – life or death?"

"Death..." he whispered automatically, staring dully down at the barren bushes below; "It's what I've always wanted..." he mumbled tiredly, "It's just that I could never figure out which kind of death I wanted more... the kind that would give me peace, or the kind that would make me want to..."

"Live?" Wright offered, arching an eyebrow.

Heero nodded, smiling sadly. "Both are so alluring..."

"Last time we were here you chose life," the doctor reminded him.

"I was a stupid drunk," he argued weakly.

"And yet you made the wise choice."

"I can't choose life again..." he murmured miserably; "I've tried and it's... This isn't life. It's... It's barely surviving and... None of it is worth the effort it takes to wake up in the morning. I've made the wrong choice. I should have jumped."

"Then why didn't you?" Wright asked; "Why did you call me that day? Why follow me back inside?"

"I didn't do it because I wanted to live," Heero said, sighing. He turned back to study the fall before him. "I did it because I wasn't sure I deserved to die."

"And now you're sure?"

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "He... he helped me. I didn't want him to, but he... he did... in a way. He unraveled this... this _mess_ that's always been inside... things I've buried and denied... things I've forgotten, but not really. He picked at my soul piece by piece... dissecting me with his words, his questions... with insights I could have lived without... and now I know. I know exactly why I should live, and I know exactly why I should die. He balanced it out... simplified it in a way that makes both outcomes equally appealing. I'm both guilty and innocent. I never wanted to accept either ruling, but now I've come to terms with both. I deserve to die... and I deserve a second chance at life." He sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head resignedly. "It's impossible to choose between the two."

"So you're waiting for death to decide for you?"

Heero opened his eyes. He studied the ground below with a torn and grimacing expression. He had no clear answer to that question.

"Will you keep waiting for death to come for you," Dr. Wright pressed on, "Or are you finally going to make the effort and actively _choose_ him?"

*     *     *

Known as "Hospital Row", Manhattan's First Avenue was lined with numerous medical facilities, notably Bellevue Medical Center, NYU Hospital and, towering nine stories behind a tall spiked wrought-iron fence with dead vines growing up the walls – the old Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital on 30th and 1st.

Bellevue Psych was one of those ancient red-bricked buildings that looked absolutely beautiful when the sun was shining and utterly nightmarish after dark. In its prime, the impressive building was an admirable sight: surrounded by a small blooming green garden, its red bricks scrubbed and vines constantly groomed. Even the massive and forbidding black-iron gate at the entrance off of 1st Avenue seemed welcoming when overlooking a well-maintained campus, but during winter, when the skies were cloudy and grime and mold began to build up while the foliage died, Bellevue Psyche became one of the creepiest grounds in Manhattan.

BPH was once renowned for its psychiatric facilities. Established sometime in mid-twentieth century AD, its legacy carried on well into the AC era, until it was finally shut down in the early AC 180s, once maintenance of the historic building was no longer cost-effective. By AC 204, the old hospital ground was one of the most haunting places in New York City. Forgotten and dilapidated, BPH was like a horror-movie set-designer's dream come true: the atmosphere around the old building was as bleak and ghostly as an ancient cemetery on All Hallows' Eve. Its façade was full of boarded-up windows and its crumbling walls covered by a tangled mess of hibernating vines clutching onto the building and digging between faded red bricks. It was a place where life was forgotten, a sight taken out of a madman's nightmare.

Duo parked Heero's black SUV on the street corner. Stepping out of the vehicle, he tucked the pistol he had retrieved from Heero's kitchen into his black jeans and walked towards the main gate. It was locked, so he climbed over the tall wrought-iron fence and jumped into the decaying garden. A few dim rays of orange light from nearby streetlamps managed to reach into the small garden, illuminating the area just enough to get around. Duo drew his weapon out again, holding it securely in two raised hands as he stealthily walked towards the entrance, merging into the shadows as he made his approach.

*     *     *

It was dark and quiet; only faint stripes of blue moonlight filterer in through the cracks between the boards covering a large window at the end of a long corridor. Short, panicked panting echoed in the dark, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps tapping hurriedly against the floor. Heero was running. Breathless and distraught, he stumbled and ran through a labyrinth of pitch-black hallways. He was barefoot, cold and naked, holding the coarse gray wool blanket around his nude chest. The fabric only reached as low as his tailbone; it flapped wildly behind him while he ran, leaving his bloody thighs and bottom exposed. He clutched it tightly against him for false-protection; his fingers were broken, twisted; wrists marred with gory red welts.

His bare feet padded loudly against the filthy floor; his ankles were also marked by gruesome welts. His limbs were bloodstained as well. The IV needle was still embedded into his inner left forearm, clotted with blood. More blood sheeted down his inner-thighs, some oozing out of his injured anus. The pain was excruciating; his behind had been torn apart and every step he took while running shattered his bones with unbelievable torment. Still, he ran. He might only be running towards his death, but at least he won't meet the one he longed for the most while lying helplessly on that chair, stripped bare and demeaned.

He didn't know how he did it, but he got out of that cursed apparatus. Somehow, he had mustered the strength to tear off the leather bonds, rip out the IV line and flee the room he had been held captive in for over five days. He had fled as fast as his trembling legs could carry him, but not before he had snatched the blanket Sloan had taken away from him off the floor. He grabbed it and ran. He ran aimlessly through endless black hallways, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered as long as he ran. It was a final act of defiance against a fate he was unable to prevent.

The Shadows were everywhere, watching. He could feel their maniacal eyes on him. They jeered, whispering insults and laughing amongst themselves, making a racket. Their constant murmuring pounded in his ears, dragging him down. They didn't think he was going to make it, but he ignored their scorn and kept running. They laughed harder, thinking him a fool. He didn't even know where he was or where he was heading. He was never going to find his way out of that maze. His legs grew heavy. Their mockery was slowing him down, dragging him back into a pit of despair. The Shadows cheered him on – fall, they called, fall!

Heart pounding, breath panting and his knees wavering, Heero stopped at a crossroad of four adjoined corridors and looked around frantically, lost. He wheezed heavily, struggling to catch his breath, and turned his head left and right; unable to decide which way he should go. They all looked the same: each corridor just as dark and forbidding as the next.

The Shadows detached from the walls and began to slowly creep towards him. He could hear their slimly little hands slithering against the walls and floor as they approached. Their whispering grew louder the closer they got. The longer he stood at that crossroad, the more he was in danger of being devoured. He had to make a choice and keep moving.

There! At the corridor to his right was the sign he'd been searching for: a faint beam of moonlight touched the floor, illuminating a small and familiar object – his daughter's pink bunny doll lay discarded on the floor by one of the many doors along the dim corridor. Heero turned towards it and took a step forward, before stopping again.

 _How can the bunny possibly be there?_ He suddenly wondered. He had thrown it away when he had moved to New York. It had to be a trick. The Shadows were trying to lure him into a trap. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and carefully opened them again. The bunny was gone. The hallway was empty. But then he blinked and it was there again!

"It's just the drugs..." he reminded himself, wincing at the sound of his own worn-out voice; a stranger's voice. Even whispered it sounded unbearably loud in the thick silence around him. He was giving away his position...

Something slick and cold touched the heel of his foot. Heero jerked back, shaking his foot anxiously, but it wouldn't come off. The Shadows were creeping up his legs, their cold dark hands sliding up his bloody thighs, making their way up his naked torso. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly; clinging onto the last shred of sanity he had left.

"Just the drugs... just the drugs... just the drugs..." he whispered over and over until the Shadows let go and slipped away. Exhaling in relief, he opened his eyes. His gaze immediately darted towards the corridor to the right: the bunny was still there.

He focused on the discarded toy, eyes narrowing as he tried to will it away. It didn't work. The Shadows laughed madly. This was a losing battle, he realized, for he had lost his sanity to them days ago. They were in control now. He had to get away from their watchful eyes; they were taking over his every thought. He had to get away before they got their hands on him again! He had to hide!

He turned and ran into the corridor to his left, in the opposite direction of the trap they had laid for him, and stumbled in through the first door he could find, desperately seeking refuge in a dark maze of insanity.

*     *     *

Duo treaded carefully as he made his way through the abandoned building, his gun pointed forward in case he ran into trouble. BPH was just as creepy on the inside as it was from the outside, if not more. Even decades after being decommissioned, it still housed many surviving traces from its days as a psychiatric hospital, complete with fading institutional yellow and gray paint on the walls, and square windows set in most of the doors. Pale streaks of blue moonlight seeping from boarded windows allowed Duo to see the inside of each room. Most of them were completely bare; others held nothing more than a couple of rusty cots and torn mattresses with their stuffing coming out. He also spotted a few broken medical supply carts, equipment and machinery, in what must have been the therapy rooms. Peeking in carefully through every single hatch, Duo continued to scan the old building room by room, corridor after corridor, floor by floor.

*     *     *

Gasping for air, Heero collapsed against a row of sinks in a large and moonlight-lit public bathroom, leaning against a green ceramic surface with two outstretched and bloody arms. The coarse gray wool blanket was draped over his hunched back. His arms quivered, unable to support him. His legs were also shaking, threatening to give way. He could barely stand, though it was his behind that probably hurt the most.

Slowly, he raised his head up. He stared numbly at his reflection in the broken mirror, looking at it through his long and messy bangs. He was looking at his own ghost: pale, bruised and bloody, wet traces of tears on his stubbly cheeks. His lips were split, swollen and covered with dry blood. He had bitten them in pain. His right eye was clotted shut with blood and mucus. The left side of his head was a tangled mess of hair caked with blood and shattered bone.

It was no wonder they wanted him to get cleaned up before the next round. They shoved him into the nearest bathroom and told him to wash up before they fuck him again.

He leaned his head down, chin against chest, curling inwards, and coughed. He could taste copper, the taste of his own blood, but he couldn't stop coughing; the blood trickled down his bristly chin. Internal bleeding, he deduced. It was bad. How he had gotten up on all fours for the second one was beyond him. His broken right arm was close to useless; he had used his elbow for support to avoid stirring the cracked bones in his forearm. His left kneecap was badly damaged. He could barely move his leg as he rose up shakily to offer his behind to yet another rapist, leaning on his right leg as he dragged the left forward using his thigh muscles only; it was dead weight.

The man had fucked him mercilessly, pounding wildly into him until he had crashed back down against an animal-fur rug in a Neanderthal family habitat, unable to support himself up anymore. His rapist urged him to rise back again and he tried, he really did, but he couldn't. The beating that followed was just as ruthless. By the time the man was done with him, the brown animal fur beneath him was soaked with blood. He had passed out and when he woke up again to unimaginable pain, they told him to drag his used-up and disgusting body to the bathroom and wash up so that the third guy could have him.

His third rapist nastily declared that he didn't want to fuck a passive _bitch_. The bastard wanted him to ride him, and he wanted him to like it. He had nodded mutely, accepting the terms because he had no other choice; his daughter's life depended on it. He would do anything to ensure her survival – _anything_... even that. And when they will no longer want him for his broken body, he will offer them his mind. He will spill out every last drop of information he possessed, he didn't care. He won't let them kill his daughter as they've killed the others. As long as she lived, he will let them have whatever they want. They can rape him, beat him, interrogate him... it didn't matter. He will cooperate. Giving them what they want was the only retaliation he was capable of in his state; the only way to ensure Elizabeth's survival. He will buy time until Preventer got there. They will come... they had to. Someone will come for them. It just was not logically possible that he would always be the one coming to the rescue; someone had to come for him too, right? He will be the one rescued for a change, and that would be okay as long as Elizabeth was rescued with him. It was all he had to go on now... this damn hope. Someone will come. Someone will save Elizabeth. Relena won't have it any other way. He just had to hold on until they come. Whatever it takes, he will hold on until someone comes for them...

Heero gawked at his reflection wretchedly. But how on Earth he was going to do what the son-of-a-bitch wanted with a busted kneecap? And how the Hell was he going to show that he liked it when even breathing hurt? He had to find a way to put on a convincing show.

He recalled a porn flick he once saw; a shocking and extremely stimulating piece of nasty hardcore which had captured his imagination and fueled his libido for weeks to follow. The things that female porn-star did were simply unforgettable, as were the expressions on her slutty face. Yes, he will do that... should be possible to copy some of it if he concentrated hard enough. He might even come... That should please the bastard, right?

Looking up miserably at the mirror, Heero raised his hand up slowly. He lowered his gaze down numbly and studied his bloody hands for a moment, dazed. His fingers were broken, set in unnatural angles. He didn't remember anyone breaking them. J broke his fingers once, crushing them with his claw. That hurt, but following J's orders with ten broken fingers hurt even more. In the very least, he had learned how to handle himself with two useless hands, because even with ten ineffectual fingers, his hands were still useful. He moved one hand towards the faucet and turned the water on using the heel of his hand. He washed the blood off his hair and his face the best he could; rubbing it off with his palms, mindful of his broken fingers. It wouldn't come off, not all of it. He will forever feel the unwanted filth clinging to his skin.

He looked up at the mirror again, clutching the gray wool blanket close to his naked chest between two pressed hands. The sight of himself made him sick... angry. He reached a blood-and-water-dripping hand towards the mirror and smeared the crimson fluid across the reflection of his wretched face so he won't have to look at it anymore.

The Shadows laughed, roaring in his ears. Heero whirled around, his eyes searching dark corners anxiously. At first he didn't understand why they were laughing, but then he realized – he had zoned out for a second, losing touch with the here and now. He wasn't in the museum's bathroom. He wasn't anywhere near DC at the moment. No; this was a different hell... one he was determined to escape. There was no use hiding in the bathroom. No matter how much he wanted to simply curl up in the corner and wither away into oblivion, he had to keep running before the Shadows catch up. He would always rather fight than flee, but how does one fight his own insanity? Running was his only option. That was probably why Sloan had unleashed the Shadows upon him: he couldn't fight Shadows, especially not the kind always lurking in the depths of his own mind. He _had_ to keep running.

*     *     *

The only doors without a small glass window were the ones marked 'WC'. After going through all nine stories, Duo has reached the end of the last corridor, where a single yellow door led to the floor's public restroom. Shifting his gun to one hand, he reached for the doorknob with the other and carefully opened the door. It creaked as it opened slowly. Duo stepped inside, just enough for a good peek, aiming his gun forward.

The long and narrow bathroom was dark and empty. Only broken yellow doors, cracked white tiles and filthy white sinks were there to greet him.

He heaved a long sigh, lowering the gun down. He bowed his head and closed his eyes sadly. That concluded nine stories and over a hundred rooms. Heero wasn't here.

*     *     *

He was lost. One dark corridor diverged from another, leading him down an endless maze of hallways branching off in every direction, none of them leading anywhere. The Apes were squealing behind closed doors, hiding in dark rooms. The Shadows were everywhere.

 **THERE IS NOWHERE TO RUN** , they taunted.

 **YOU WILL NEVER GET OUT OF HERE** ,the Voice agreed. Heero ran, trying to get away from the overpowering voice, but it was coming from everywhere at once:

 **NO ONE IS COMING FOR YOU, HEERO,** it said; **NO ONE EVER DOES...**

 _That's not true_ , he tried to remind himself. Zechs came for him. He came for him in DC and got him out of that cursed museum. He had already reached the end of his rope, believing that all of his efforts to survive were in vain, because everyone but Elizabeth and him was dead and there were only twenty more minutes before his own execution. No one was coming.

One of the three thugs wanted to have one more go at him before he's dead. He had begged him not to take him away from his daughter. He didn't want his last few moments to be spent away from her... raped. He held onto to her, weeping and pleading with the thug to change his mind, telling him that he won't make for a good fuck anymore... so why? The man didn't care. He told him that if he wanted his daughter's death to be quick and painless without ever knowing what was coming, then he should come with him to the back one last time. He didn't get it... he just didn't. How could anyone be so heartless, so cruel?

 _'Please... I just met her today...'_ he had cried, hugging Elizabeth tightly; _'Don't you have any children?'_ he had tried to appeal to whatever humanity the man might have.

 _'Three of them,'_ the bastard said. _'Born and raised in space... unlike this piece a shit here.'_

 _'I'm from space...'_ he hurried to say; _'I fought for space... look me up, you'll see.'_

 _'That's even worse,'_ the thug snarled and spat in his face; _'she's Darlian's daughter – a fucking **half-breed!** Now c'mon! Boss wants you dead in twenty minutes, so get a move on!'_

_'Can I at least say goodbye?'_

_'No!'_ The man smirked nastily. _'Don't worry, you won't be missed!'_

 **HE'S RIGHT, YOU _WON'T_ BE MISSED,** the Voice agreed. **WHY WOULD _ANYONE_ MISS _YOU?_ YOU'LL DIE HERE AND NO ONE WOULD SHED A SINGLE TEAR FOR YOU!**

The bastard laughed and raised his meaty hand to take Elizabeth away. He didn't want to let go! Not yet! Not ever... no! He struggled to keep his daughter in his arms, pulling back when the man tried to drag her away, but the thug was stronger and he was so tired, completely beaten. He couldn't keep the man from yanking her away...

The thug suddenly collapsed to the floor, dead. There was a bloody hole in the center of his head. Heero looked up, stunned, and his eyes fell on the shooter standing but a few feet away. It was Zechs. He came. He came for them...

 **HE CAME FOR ELIZABETH,** the Voice corrected, **BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO USELESS TO SAVE HER. YOU WERE JUST PLAYING _WHORE_ , THAT'S IT.** **YOU'RE _DISGUSTING_. WHY WOULD _ANYONE_ WANT TO SAVE YOU? NO ONE EVER COMES FOR YOU, HEERO, AND YOU _KNOW_ WHY... YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE SAVED.**

That wasn't true... it wasn't. Duo came for him. He came to save him at the Alliance Military Hospital. It was the first time anyone ever came to his rescue... the first time someone showed that they cared...

 **NO HE DIDN'T,** the Voice insisted; **DUO NEVER CARED. HE CAME BECAUSE HE WAS ORDERED TO. HE DIDN'T COME BECAUSE HE CARED ABOUT YOU. HE CAME TO GET _PILOT ZERO-ONE_ OUT OF A STICKY SITUATION. HE DIDN'T COME BECAUSE OF _YOU_. HE NEVER COMES FOR YOU, HEERO. HE LEFT YOU TO DIE IN SIBERIA. HE LEFT YOU TO ROT IN THAT OZ CELL ON THE MOON BASE. HE LEFT YOU WHEN THE WAR ENDED. HE LEFT YOU HERE TOO... HE LEFT YOU TO DIE ALONE AND AFRAID. NO ONE CARES FOR YOU, HEERO... NO ONE EVER HAS OR EVER WILL. JUST DIE ALREADY... YOU'LL BE DOING THEM ALL A FAVOR.**

Heero clenched his eyes shut tight, his tears squeezing out, and ran faster. He refused to believe that... he refused to believe it! Relena cared... she did. They cared for each other so much that they ended up hurting... And what he had with Duo had been _real_! It _was_ real... It _had_ to be real! They might have been fools for never showing how _real_ it really was, but it was always real! It had to be... it had to be real!

 **DUO WAS NEVER _REAL!_** The Voice laughed tauntingly. **YOU MADE HIM UP! YOU MADE HIM UP SO THAT SOMEONE WOULD LOVE YOU, SO THAT SOMEONE WOULD FINALLY CARE...**

"No!" he shouted, shaking his head frantically as he ran, weeping because every word stung where it hurt the most.

"He was real! He's real! Duo's real! He is!"

**YOU WERE JUST TRYING TO MAKE DEATH MORE APPEALING, SO YOU GAVE HIM A FACE.**

"That's not true!" he cried out in despair; "Duo isn't death... he's all about life... and he's real... I know he is... he's real... I wouldn't have been so afraid of him if he wasn't real... He's coming for me... he has to... he'll come..."

 **NO, HE ISN'T. HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU, HEERO. ALL THOSE YEARS AND NOT ONE WORD FROM HIM... HE DOESN'T CARE. HE NEVER DID. ONCE YOU WERE OF NO MORE USE TO HIM, HE TOOK OFF. NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU, HEERO. THEY DON'T CARE BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT IMPORTANT.** **YOU WERE _NEVER_ IMPORTANT, SEIKI... NOT EVEN TO YOUR OWN MOTHER...**

" _Shut up!!!_ " he screamed and covered his ears, eyes still closed. He kept running, desperate to get away from the overbearing voice drilling hopeless words into his psyche:

**YOU'RE NOTHING MORE THAN A TOOL. EVEN YOUR PARENTS DIDN'T TREAT YOU AS ANYTHING ELSE. YOUR OWN MOTHER COULD BAREY STAND YOU AND ALL ODIN NEEDED YOU FOR WAS TO KILL FOR HIM. YOU DON'T MATTER... NOT REALLY. NOT TO ANYONE. NOT EVEN TO THOSE WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO LOVE YOU... AND NOT TO THE _ONE_ PERSON YOU WISH WOULD LOVE YOU BACK...**

"Shutup shutup _shutup!!!_ " he hollered madly, tears lingering to his closed eyes. He banged on his ears desperately, struggling not to listen to the words he had always feared to hear, words that cut him to the bone and broke him piece by piece until he crumbled into dust...

 **THEY ALL USE YOU TO SOME DEGREE,** the Voice carried on; **YOU'RE JUST A TOOL, AND EVEN THE MOST VALUABLE TOOLS CAN BE REPLACED. THEY WILL MOVE ON, BOTH RELENA AND DUO. THEY DON'T NEED YOU. THEY NEVER DID. THEY ONLY STUCK AROUND AS LONG AS YOU WERE USEFUL TO THEIR CAUSE. YOU'RE NOTHING NOW. THEY DON'T CARE. THEY DIDN'T EVEN ANSWER YOUR CALLS JUST NOW... THEY DIDN'T CARE TO HEAR YOUR FINAL FAREWELL...**

Heero stopped short with a gasp. He stared ahead at the dark hallway, horrified by the brutal realization that the Voice was right. They didn't answer his calls... why? Why didn't they answer?! Why! Was Duo still angry with him? Was Relena too disgusted with him now? Why didn't they answer? He wanted to say goodbye... he wanted to tell them... why didn't they answer? Why couldn't they do this one small thing for him? Just one small thing... to say goodbye... to say he was sorry for all those years of being a coldhearted bastard... that's all he wanted. Why didn't they answer?

 **BECAUSE THEY DON'T REALLY CARE FOR YOU, HEERO,** the words vibrated in his chest, giving voice to his deepest fears. **YOU'RE NOT IMPORTANT TO THEM... YOU NEVER WERE. THEY WERE WITH YOU OUT OF PITY, THAT'S ALL... WHY WOULD THEY EVER WANT YOU TO TOUCH THEM AGAIN NOW THAT THEY KNOW WHAT KIND OF A _DIRTY WHORE_ YOU REALLY ARE?**

"But... but Duo doesn't know..." he argued weakly, "He doesn't..."

 **OF COURSE HE DOES** , the Voice argued back. **THEY ALL KNOW. THEY CAN TELL JUST BY THE LOOK OF YOU – _WHORE_.**

"I didn't want to do it!" he sobbed miserably; "I didn't want to! I had to! I had to do it... they'll understand... I didn't want it... I didn't enjoy it..."

 **BUT YOU ASKED FOR MORE,** the Voice goaded viciously. **YOU AGREED TO EVERY _FILTHY_ THING THEY WANTED YOU TO DO. YOU'RE A _WHORE_. DUO WOULD NEVER WANT A WHORE. HE'D SPIT RIGHT IN YOUR FACE ONCE HE SEES YOU. RELENA WON'T TAKE YOU BACK NOW EITHER. YOU DISGUST HER. YOU'RE DISGUSTING. YOU'RE EVERYTHING SHE HATES: A KILLER AND A WHORE.**

" ** _SHUT_ _UP!!!_** " he cried and threw himself at one of the many doors, barging into the nearest room to get away from the Voice bombarding the hallways. Panting fearfully, he ran to the back of the room and huddled in a dark corner, slowly sliding down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He curled into himself, drawing his knees up and leaning his head against them, keeping his hands over his ears.

"Shut up... shut up... shut up..." he whispered over and over, rocking back and forth and covering his ears forcefully. He felt the blanket slip off his shoulders and, panicking, he hurried to grab it before it fell. He wrapped it securely around himself, shaking, and pushed back against the wall, hiding in the corner. Defeated and afraid, succumbed by self-pity, he wailed in despair, hugging his blanket.

The Voice was right. No one was going to come for him. He was beyond salvation. There was nothing worthy of salvaging. He was going to die here, sitting alone in a dark corner, and no one would even care... no one would ever know... Duo will never know...

Soft hands emerged from the Shadows, holding him. He was pulled into a strong embrace, cradled and rocked by warm, sturdy arms.

"Shush..." a soft male voice shushed soothingly while a hand petted his hair gently; "shush... It's okay... you're not alone... I'm here... I'm right here... Shush..."

Heero held onto the warm body, burying his face against a taut chest.

"Duo..." he wailed in relief, "you came for me... you did... you're real... I knew you were real... you came to save me... you finally came for me..."

Duo's arms held him even tighter. There was a sense of apology in his embrace. "You know those annoying dreams after you hit the snooze alarm?" he asked apologetically and Heero could picture the helpless smile hovering over his lips. "The ones when you're sure that you got up, went to the bathroom... brushed your teeth... got ready for the day n' all and then suddenly the alarm goes off again and you realize you were just dreaming? Well, this is kinda the same..."

Heero sat up, pulling away from the embrace. His eyes didn't bother seeking Duo's face, because he wasn't really there. He sniffled, miserable.

"But I... I ran... I... I ran... I got out of there... I did... I-I... I did..."

"Heero..."

"No!" he snapped, distraught; "I can't still be on that chair! No... _NO!_ "

"Think about it Heero," Duo insisted; "do you remember how you got out of that chair?  Do you remember how you got _here_? Why didn't Sloan follow you? Did you take him out? How could you possibly do that in your condition? You didn't because it never happened. You don't remember any of it because this isn't real..."

"No... No..." Heero whimpered, shaking his head in denial. "You're real... You _have_ to be... I didn't make you up... Please... Duo... you have to be real this time... please..."

"I'm so sorry, Heero... You know I'd never lie to you."

He slumped back tiredly against the wall, drawing the blanket closer to his naked chest. It was so cold. He was dying, wasn't he?

He bowed his head down, beaten.

"Then I'm... I'm still... I'm still tied to that chair..?" he mumbled hopelessly, his voice breaking. Tears flooded his eyes. "No..." he closed his eyes in defeat, his tears overflowing; He covered his face with both hands, weeping sorrowfully.

"I... I never... You never... You never came for me... you're not real..." he cried in despair; "No one ever comes for me... no one ever saves me... and now there's nothing left to save... nothing... they took everything... those men... and Sloan... they took all that was left of me and tainted it too... they made it so ugly... all of it... they made me so ugly! I'm sorry! I'm sorry... Duo... I'm sorry..."

He flung his hands forward and clung onto Duo in desperation, shaking a body that wasn't really there.

"I can't die here!" he cried out, looking up at Duo's shadowy figure with tearful blue eyes, begging him for his aid. "I can't die here... like this... I can't... I can't die being like this... Please... get me out of here... Duo... just this once... Save me... please..."

"You're not going to die here, Heero," Duo whispered softly; "You're a survivor, remember? A reluctant one, but a survivor... Despite your best efforts, you've lived through so much shit... and you're gonna live through this Hell too, you hear? You are _not_ going to die here. Someone will come for you. You gotta believe that, okay? Just hold on."

Duo's words only made him cry harder, because they were lies, and the _real_ Duo never lied. This was just a hallucination... Duo wasn't real. He was _never_ real. What they had was never real. It was all in his head. He was never loved, never. No one has ever loved him. That was why "—no one's ever... No one... never..." he mumbled between hiccupped sobs, sniffling repeatedly. "No one ever comes... no one ever cares..."

"That's not true," Duo insisted, lying; "Don't believe his lies, Heero... please don't. Don't listen to him. Don't give in to the pain. Someone _will_ come."

"No one is coming for me, or they would've come by now..." he argued weakly, wiping away his tears, but more just kept on coming, gushing down his pale face. "No one's coming... I knew they wouldn't... I knew it when I agreed to take this assignment... No one cares... That's why I tried to call you at the station that day... I... I... I was scared... I didn't want to die like this. I wanted to call you... I needed help... but... you weren't there. You never are... You took off... leaving me behind... You always leave me behind... No one is coming. You're not coming... No one is coming because I'm never that important... You never made me important... I never let you... I should've... I... I should have let you... I wouldn't be here if I had... I'm so sorry..."

He felt Duo wrap his arms around him once more; arms that weren't real, but he held onto them nonetheless, pulling closer to Duo. He curled up against him, crying like a child.

"I messed up, Duo... I'm so sorry... I messed everything up... I should have showed you... I should have... should've said... so many things..."

"Shush, Heero... shush..." Duo soothed him, caressing his hair gently, lulling him to sleep. "It's okay... it's gonna be okay," he continued to lie and Heero drank his lies hungrily, because recognizing those lies was the only thing that felt real.

*     *     *

After climbing down nine stories, Duo stepped out of the stairwell leading back to the ground floor. He held Heero's pistol in his hand, dangling limply down because there was no perpetrator to point it at – his search has come up empty. He took one last look around, eyes scanning the dark corridor stretching towards the main doors. The place was a mess, but completely deserted. No one has been here in a long while.

He sighed, dejected, and tucked his sidearm into his waistband, turning towards the exit. He figured Shaw should be here any moment with the SWAT team. He will wait for them outside with the bad news, saving them the trouble.

He began making his way towards the main doors and the lights suddenly flickered: a flash of light tearing through the darkness for no more than a split of a second. Duo stopped dead in his tracks, frowning. It was just a brief surge of buzzing fluorescent lights sputtering briefly into life before dying out again. The flickering stopped quickly enough to make him wonder if it indeed happened. Then, it happened again: an electric power-surge caused the lights in the hallways' ceiling to flicker on and off. Then – darkness. The silence returned, humming loudly in his ears. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing. There was electricity in the air; tension... danger. He drew out the gun, his expression hardening dangerously.

Someone was definitely there.

It then suddenly occurred to him that he has neglected to check the old building for a cellar...

*     *     *

Heero lay in the dark, his head resting in Duo's warm lap. A firm hand petted his hair soothingly, lulling him to sleep as he lay cradled in death's embrace. He closed his eyes, gratefully accepting the comfort of a welcoming deathbed.

"This isn't so bad..." he whispered quietly, content; "It's almost like... almost like I'm with..."

" _Her_?" Duo interjected, though not as harshly as he usually did when referring to Relena. Heero smiled wistfully.

"Yeah..." he confirmed ruefully, "I never felt this way with you before..."

"You never let your guard down this way before," Duo pointed out; "not with me, anyway."

"Yeah..." he whispered, sighing; "it's easier to let go when there isn't much left..."

"Must be," Duo agreed and Heero nestled closer to his warm, formless, presence, keeping his eyes closed so he won't have to look at the shadow-shrouded apparition he was clinging to in his final moments; he held onto the illusion instead.

Somewhere far away, someone was screaming. Quiet traces of tormented shrieks and pitiable whimpers echoed in the dark, rippling through the black void like waves. Heero knew that the screaming was his own pathetic howling; distant echoes from the physical world beyond this shelter of darkness. His body was still being tortured, but his soul was safe here... hiding. He closed his eyes, ignoring the distant screaming, and nuzzled deeper into Duo's warm embrace.

"This isn't such a bad way to go..." he murmured against Duo's lap, relishing in the intimate touch of soft long fingers ruffling his hair in slow and steady caresses; "As long as I don't wake up... this is okay... Just like... like going to sleep..."

"Yeah, guess it is."

"I did it back then too..." Heero murmured hazily; "disconnecting. I let them do whatever they wanted with me and just... cut myself off. I didn't dare thinking about you, though. Not while they were..."

"Yeah, I know," Duo whispered softly and held him even tighter. There was great comfort in his strong embrace. Heero wished he could stay held in his arms for all eternity.

"I wish I had more time to leave you a message too..." he sighed sadly; "There are so many things I left unsaid..."

"Yeah? And what would you have said if I had picked up the phone?"

The distant screaming was fading away. Heero opened his eyes. Looking ahead at the all-consuming darkness, he listened to the dim echoes gradually melt into a heavy silence. A disturbing stillness engulfed the black void around him. Even the sound of his heart was slowly fading; the beating that he was never consciously aware of was suddenly painfully amiss. Its absence made the silence ever more unsettling. His body was preparing for death. He didn't have much time.

*     *     *

A wooden step creaked under Duo's weight as he carefully placed his foot on it, stepping down a dark flight of stairs. He held the gun tightly in his outstretched hands, keeping his finger on the trigger as he made his way down into the basement. He treaded cautiously until he reached the bottom.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. He now stood in yet another dark corridor with a row of doors on each flank. A faint light was coming from the far end, pouring from a crack beneath one of the doors. Duo's eyes narrowed dangerously. His mind numbed, tuning out everything but that door. He was completely focused; his senses as heightened as a predator on the loose. He advanced stealthily towards the door, his weapon aimed, cocked and ready.

Something above him creaked silently and he halted, alert. His eyes darted to the ceiling. Footsteps; from the ground floor, he deduced. Shaw and the SWAT team have just entered the building. He didn't have time to retrace his steps and guide them towards the hidden service door he had found leading down to the basement. They will have to go through all nine stories as he had, because right now he had more important things to do. They were a quick and efficient team; they'll be here fast enough, for sure. He continued making his way carefully towards the door framed by a thin strip of light.

He stopped in front of the closed door, his fingers curling readily around his weapon. The dim light pouring from the crack at the bottom touched the tip of his black boots, illuminating dust and scratches. Shifting the gun into one hand, Duo placed the other slowly around the doorknob. He tested it carefully; it was unlocked. He opened the door... slowly; just a crack. Leaning silently into the room, weapon ready, he peeked inside.

He was looking into some kind of storage room, full of dusty old furniture and equipment. Mountains of it were piled up along the walls, more of it scattered in masses around the room. It was a maze of cardboard boxes, wooden crates, metallic file-cabinets and outdated medical machinery that looked as though it was taken out of an old Frankenstein horror film. A strong white light was coming from somewhere beyond a tall wall of crates.

Knowing that he was hidden, Duo opened the door fully. He entered.

The first thing he noticed was that the room reeked of vomit and urine. Secondly, he noted a low whirring sound filling the room. The white light flickered, shutting off for a few seconds. Narrow windows were lined-up along the room at ceiling-level; they were boarded-up, though pale blue moonlight shone through the cracks, enough to shed some light in the brief time it took for the strong white light to return. Duo slowly made his way around a large pile of crates, weapon aimed and prepped.

The light flickered on and off again.

"Damn it," someone hissed under his breath.

A switch was flipped and the whirring died out. The light steadied. Silence fell.

Someone moaned; a quiet, pained whimper.

Duo froze, his blood running cold.

 _Heero_ ,he realized with visceral conviction and dread. His fists curled tightly around the gun. He resumed walking towards the light, attaching himself to the towering row of boxes and crates, merging into the shadows... death sneaking up from behind. He turned carefully behind a corner, aiming his pistol forward with two outstretched hands. His aim immediately fell on the back of Dr. Sloan's balding head.

The middle-aged man was standing with his back turned to Duo; the menace completely unbeknownst to him. He was fumbling with some kind of old device: a large rectangular-shaped machine with dials, knobs and meters. It stood on a rusty old cart, which shook as the man struggled to get it working again. Wires sprung out of the machine, falling to the floor and then climbing back up. Duo's eyes traced them, his gaze rising along the wires until it fell upon their final destination and his breath hitched in his throat, threatening to shatter his battle-ready concentration.

There, lying naked on what look like an old dentist's chair, was Heero. The wires were connected to his chest, forehead and temples using electrodes. Duo's eyes widened with shock and his mouth hung open as his eyes fell on the young man for the first time in eight years. He was horrified by what he saw: Heero's pale body was mottled with bloody cuts, most of them still bleeding. His skin was white and clammy, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat even though the room was very cold. He lay slack, lifeless, held down by leather straps stretched over his wrists and ankles. His fingers were set in odd angles; broken. His bare legs were propped up and spread open on a pair of stirrups, much like a woman on a gynecologist's chair. Leather straps around his ankles held his legs in place. There was an IV line running into his arm from a bag that hung to his left; it was full of pinkish clear liquid. Heero's head was lolled limply to the side, facing Duo. His eyes were closed and his bristly cheeks streaked with traces of tears. Blood sheeted down his unshaven chin. His lips were badly chapped and bloody.

Duo stood there and stared, completely aghast by the painful display of frailty. This was the first time he was looking at Heero in nearly a decade, and he wasn't seeing Heero at all... just a brittle husk lying in the hands of a madman: tortured, helpless and defiled.

Horror was replaced by anger. Irrational fury flooded Duo's mind. He saw red. His fist clenched tightly around the gun. His eyes quickly shifted back towards Sloan. He fixed his aim, ready to shoot the son-of-a-bitch in the back of his fucking head. The man was still facing the machine, his hands on the dials. Duo prepared to shoot. His finger began to squeeze the trigger...

"It was _her_ he called in the end," Sloan suddenly said, catching Duo by surprise. His finger halted over the trigger, and he frowned. The doctor turned to face him slowly. He raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender, smirking. He was holding a small smartphone device – Heero's phone.

"You can check for yourself," he said, gesturing with the phone towards Duo. "The last outgoing call he made was to _her_... barley an hour ago. It was quite touching," he added smugly and lowered his hand, the one holding Heero's phone, so he could hand it over to Duo.

"He wanted to say goodbye, but she wasn't answering..." He nudged his hand towards Duo, encouraging him to take the phone.

"Put your hand back up – NOW!" Duo roared, securing his aim by using both arms. He held the gun pointed at Sloan's head, glaring wrathfully at the man.

"Don't take your anger out on me," the doctor droned slyly, snarling. "It's him you're angry with, isn't it?"

Duo's eyes darted back in Heero's direction, glancing at the tortured young man lying unconscious on the chair. He winced, unable to bear the painful sight. He turned back to Sloan.

"You must be very disappointed in him for choosing _her_ again, aren't you?" Sloan goaded nastily.

"Shut da fuck up – _now!_ " Duo warned, quickly shifting his glare back at Sloan. He stepped closer, fixing his aim. "No more fucking mind games," his hissed, pointing the gun squarely in the center of the man's receding hairline, and stepped even closer. "I'm done playing. Game over, mother-fucker–" he growled, standing right in Sloan's face. He shoved the barrel into the man's forehead, smirking darkly. "You're out," he hissed, poking the man's head with the gun. "I can't think of one good reason why I shouldn't play judge, jury and executioner right here, right now."

Dr. Sloan wasn't the slightest bit daunted by the intimidating darkness in Duo's eyes. The man was still grinning sneakily. " _I_ can," he said, smirking proudly; "You want to know why he didn't choose you, why he _never_ chose you, and I'm the only one who can tell you why."

" _Da fuck_ you think I'd wanna hear it from _you?_ " Duo growled furiously, gesturing wildly with his gun still pointed at Sloan's head. "I ain't playin' this game no more."

"Too bad. I did enjoy our little chats," Sloan said, smiling wistfully. "Speaking with the two of you has offered me great insight into Heero's psyche. You've completed missing pieces of the puzzle and confirmed many of my assumptions. I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude. I now know enough to answer the question that has been bugging you for years. You said you wanted to know what makes him tick. I can tell you. I can tell you why he was never willing to choose you over _her_."

"If I'll wanna know, I'll ask him myself."

"No, you won't," Sloan countered, snarling haughtily in Duo's face; "Because while you're so busy playing _macho_ here, you've failed to notice that Heero has stopped breathing... over a minute ago."

Duo gasped and whirled around to look at the chair. His mind raced, doing the math: if he went to check on Heero's vitals, Sloan will get away and he won't get the satisfaction of taking the bastard out before the SWAT team got him.  But then, if he won't go check on Heero... he might die. Heero's life or Sloan's – that was a no brainer.

Duo launched at the chair, dropping his gun so he could check on Heero's vitals. He anxiously scanned his bloodied chest for visible chest-rise, and saw none. He hurried to check for a carotid pulse, pressing two fingers against Heero's neck and counting five seconds. It took him a total of ten seconds to confirm respiratory arrest and obvious cardiac distress.

" _Dammit!_ " Duo hissed and whirled back around to look at the room. Sloan was already gone... and so was his gun.

" _Fuck_ ," he released under his breath turned back to Heero. The young man's lips and extremities were already turning blue. Duo wasted no more time. He climbed on top of Heero, straddling the young man's naked hips, and leaned forward to place both hands over the center of Heero's bloodied chest, pushing down hard. He began performing CPR.

*     *     *

Heero was aware of none of that. Lying safely hidden in darkness, curled against a warm body existing only in a dying man's dream, he stared blankly at the blackness all around him while Duo's long fingers ran gently through his hair.

"You kept asking me that question..." he whispered and closed his eyes resignedly; "...why I wanted you so much."

He felt Duo's hand waver slightly in mid-caress. He opened his eyes again, staring ahead at the nothingness that awaited him, and smiled sadly. He was making his final confession to darkness, nothing more, but at this point he didn't care. Things finally made sense; he could finally put mixed-emotions into proper words. Duo _had_ to hear this... real or not.

"You'd ask it and I'd run away," he murmured dolefully; "But I didn't run because I wanted to be with _her_ ," he confessed and felt Duo's strong hand pet his hair again soothingly, giving him strength to keep talking.

"I knew exactly why I wanted her... it was so much easier to admit. The things she gave me, she... she made life bearable, but you... you made something _more_ out of it. She taught me _how_ to feel, but you taught me _why_. That burn I felt whenever I was with you... that... that _fire_ you ignited inside of me... it kept me alive. You put substance behind each breath. You were the reason I inhaled air into my lungs... you... you made me want to _live_ , and that's why I ran. I ran because I didn't want to want you as much as I did. I didn't want to live... I didn't think I deserved it... and wanting you meant wanting something I shouldn't have. It was easier going through life expecting death, but with you... with you I expected so much more... and it scared me. Loving you was... consuming, undeniable. You were the only kind of death I feared... the death that meant life.

"Because of you, I had a reason to keep breathing, but it was like there was no more air in my lungs... the fear was paralyzing. I didn't want to want you as much as I did and still, I... I loved loving you. I loved _feeling_ so much for you. That burn... it was so _real_ , so deep. It... It gave me hope. Loving you gave me hope and I... I was so afraid of hoping. Pain was something I could handle, but hope would have killed me... so I ran. I ran to _her_ because she made sense... and I didn't feel obligated to live for her. She didn't need me... she wanted me, but she didn't need me. Not as much as I needed her. I needed to see myself through her eyes, but at some point I... I didn't like what I saw. I couldn't see the fire anymore... your fire, the one you put there... it was gone. It was gone and without it I... I didn't know why I was breathing anymore. Nothing felt real... I couldn't feel anymore.

"I wish... I wish you were real, Duo, so I could say these things to your face. I want to choose you this time, to choose life... a life with you. I thought I'd make it on my own, but I can't... and I don't want to run away anymore. I don't want to die here. I don't want him to kill me, but I'm... I'm all out of... everything. I... I can't fight anymore... I'm so tired of fighting for all those... for all those things people take for granted. I'm so sick of having to justify every breath I take, telling myself that it was worth the effort... it isn't. Not anymore. I brought a life into this world and... she died. The only good thing I've ever done was an accident and... and even she died.

"She died because she was mine... She never would have been in that room if she wasn't my child... She never would have died so young if she wasn't mine... I killed her... my own daughter... I killed her... I gave everything so she would live, and then I killed her. My gun... mine... it killed her. The same gun I wanted to kill myself with so many times... I left if lying around like I always did... planning on actually going through with it next time... only it killed her, not me. She killed herself with it because I was too much of a coward to go through with it... No one gets it. They don't get what it's like being me... and I'm... I'm just so... I'm so tired... tired of... of _being_... of being me... trying... trying to live instead of her... I'm tired of trying, Duo. I try to change but I don't know... I... I don't know who I'm trying to change into. I don't know why I should even bother... it won't bring her back. And no matter how much I _do_ change... in the end I'm still... I'm still me. I'm still left with just... me. And the only one who makes it okay to be me... is you.

"I wish so much you were real, Duo. I wish you... I wish you'd come for me... Just this once, I wish you'd save me. I wish you'd choose life for me, choose _me..._ make me important... make my life important, make it better... meaningful, because no one's ever... and I... I-I can't...  I can't justify living anymore... not if it's living as just me... without her... without you. I don't mean anything without you... I need that fire... your fire, Duo... please... I-I need you... I need you to make me live... I need you to come and save what's left of me, so I can live...so that I can live where she couldn't... She was just like me... never loved enough, never cared for the way she should have been cared for... She will never love, never feel the things I've learned to feel... she will never get the chance to tell someone that she... that... that I... that I've always..."

He saw movement, and fell silent. Duo was leaning down from the Shadows. Heero stared, bemused. He could finally see his face, although not very clearly; it was just a vague face one sees in a dream, knowing who you're looking at but not really seeing any detail. Still, he recognized the long braid... and those eyes; that amazing cobalt-blue looking at him with burning intensity...

"Heero," Shadow-Duo whispered softly and Heero's eyes darted up to meet his. There was such warmth in those cobalt blue depths... such welcoming warmth... and it was getting closer. Duo was leaning in for a kiss. He stopped an inch from Heero's lips, smiling warmly. Heero gaped at him numbly. Duo smiled gently, leaning down even further.

"Open your eyes..." he whispered against Heero's lip, and then sealed them with a kiss.

*     *     *

Inhaling a sharp gulp of air, Duo leaned over Heero's face, pinched his nose and covered his bloody lips with his own. The taste of blood and tears assaulted his senses with a violent punch. His mind reeled as it absorbed the horrific nature and extent of the abuse he tasted on Heero's lifeless lips. He ignored the painful pang in his chest and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He blew air into Heero's mouth and the young man's chest rose sharply. He did it again and quickly jerked back up to resume chest compressions, pumping Heero's chest in a fervent rhythm.

His lips and chin were smeared with Heero's blood. Sweat broke on his forehead; his messily chopped hair was sticking to his face, some spiky strands dripping sweat as they swung wildly back and forth with the momentum of each frantic compression. He counted thirty compressions and then dived back in for another round of respiratory aid. His lips nearly touched Heero's when he suddenly froze, eyes wide.

Heero was awake, looking up at him dully.

Duo gawked back, his mouth hanging open. His world narrowed down to Heero's eyes; they were all he could see.

Heero's expression was dreamy... far away. He blinked, once; a slow, sluggish movement of his eyelids. Suddenly Duo was drowning in an ocean of Prussian blue, pulled in by irresistible currents. There was awareness in those eyes; they were looking up at him in recognition. He watched, stunned stupid, as Heero's bloody lips curled up slowly. He smiled at him: just this sweet little smile... the first smile Duo has ever seen grace Heero's handsome face. He gaped at the uncanny sight, awed.

As gradually as it came, the smile vanished bit by bit. Heero's eyes fluttered shut again. His head slumped limply to the side as his face was once again expressionless. He exhaled once, and then his chest stilled.

Duo actually felt his own heart stop. Was that... goodbye?

" _Shit_ _no!_ " he exclaimed and hurried to check for a pulse again. He couldn't feel one. "Oh, come _on!_ " he moaned; "You were just here! Heero... shit... you were _just_ here!"

He jumped off the chair.

"You don't get to go out like this – you hear!" he shouted as he whirled around to face the machine connected to Heero. "Not you, not _ever_ – got it?!" he continued as his eyes studied the machine hastily, shifting quickly across the different switches, meters and dials. One meter read from 0 to 250 volts.

"You don't get to smile at me – first smile _ever!_ – and then just fade away like that!"

He turned the dial, setting the machine to its highest voltage output.

"That's sick... even for you, you sadistic _fuck!_ "

He turned and yanked the wires connected to Heero's forehead, ripping the electrodes off. He threw them aside, leaving only the electrodes that were glued to Heero's bloody chest. He reached for the machine and flipped the 'on' switch. The small device whirred to life and the meter-needle jerked up towards the red zone: 250 volts. It was dangerously close to the bare minimum required for external defibrillation of an adult human heart, but it would have to do.

The light flickered. Heero's body jerked on the chair, arching upwards. Duo turned the machine off and ran over to Heero, checking for a pulse. His fingers trembled as he felt along the length of the carotid artery. He was shaking so hard that he couldn't feel anything! He forced himself to still and held his breath. He waited.

There was a pulse... faint and unsteady, but it was there.

The tears just burst out of him. He sobbed loudly, relieved.

"You son of a bitch!" he cussed, looking at Heero through tear-blurry eyes. He untied the leather straps holding Heero's wrists down, crying as he fumbled with the buckles.

"Did you really think I'd let you go down like this?" he mumbled, half-weeping, half-laughing, and turned to free Heero's ankles as well.

"Did you really think I'd stand by and let you die thinking you're alone and unloved?" he asked and freed Heero's feet from the stirrups. "You God damned son of a bitch... putting me through this shit... thinking I'd be okay seeing you like this... letting you go like this... leaving me with one last memory of you lying here, like this... convinced you don't deserve all the things I wanna give you... things I've always wanted to give, but you scared da shit outta me... so I didn't..."

He found a blanket lying on the floor; a coarse gray wool blanket that itched under his fingertips when he picked it up, and covered Heero's ice-cold body. The young man's breath was rugged and unsteady. He was breathing again, but not for long. Duo's eyes darted up towards the IV bag. He realized that Heero was still being fed with whatever was in it. He hurried to disconnect the IV line, yanking the needle out of Heero's arm and throwing the dripping tube onto the floor. A small pinkish puddle formed around it slowly.

He turned back to Heero, searching his chest for movement. He was still breathing, but barely. He gazed upon him miserably, feeling helpless. Heero's head was slouched to the side in unconsciousness; his expression oblivious. Duo reached a hand to caress his damp hair.

"You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?" he whispered, tears shining in his eyes; "Even like this... you are so Goddamn beautiful..." He picked Heero up carefully, scooping him off the chair, along with the blanket. He held Heero cradled in his arms, the blanket resting over his injured and nude body, and turned to walk out of the room. Heero's limbs dangled lifelessly to the floor, swinging with Duo's each step. His head sagged to the side, resting against Duo's chest. His breath was labored and erratic.

"Everything about you is just so beautiful..." Duo continued as he made his way through the maze of towering boxes, heading for the door. He kept his eyes front, retracing his steps back to the door.

"Whether you believe it or not... I don't care," he told Heero; "I see it... and I've always loved what I've seen in you... I still do. You don't deserve this. You don't... so I'm not gonna hold back anymore. I won't. I won't let you go on another minute thinking you're unloved, that you're undeserving of love... because that's not true."

He stopped, hugging Heero closer against him. He looked down at his oblivious face, smiling forlornly.

"You _are_ loved," he whispered, and continued walking. " _I_ love you. I always have. I never stopped. Not for one damn minute... so you just hold on, okay? You keep breathing, Heero, you hear? _Keep breathing_. I'll breathe for you if I haffta... I swear to God I will... I won't let you die here," Duo promised as he carried Heero out the door and into the dark hallway. He was tuned on the man's every breath; it came out in shallow and irregular gasps. He had no way of knowing if his words were getting through, but bargaining with death was the only thing he had left as he made his way back towards the stairwell at the end of the corridor, holding Heero's dying body in his arms.

"Pull through this and I'll show you just how much I love you... like I shoulda done in the first place," he said, tightening his hold around the frail and lifeless body lying slumped in his arms.

"I'll let you know just how beautiful your ugly is to me," he promised and bowed his head down to look at Heero again. "Let me prove that to you, Heero, please," he begged; "I'll show you. I'll show you... I'll give you all the love you deserve... You deserve so much love, Heero... so much love... I know I let you go thinking you ain't worth shit, but I was wrong... a stupid kid... vengeful and stupid. I shoulda never let you go... I shoulda never left you thinking that I didn't care... because I did... still do."

He reached the stairwell at the end of the hall. Shifting Heero in his arms to secure his hold around the young man, he climbed up, mindful of every step.

"I'll give you everything... anything... all the things you shoulda been given in the first place. You deserve so much... so much more than lying defeated like this... Please let me show you, Heero... please... I'll get it right this time, I promise. I won't fuck it up this time... I won't let you down _ever_ again, so please... please... Oh God... please... Just this once... don't choose death... not unless it's _me_."

He stopped when he reached the top and lowered his gaze so he could look at Heero's unconscious face.

"I'll be your death..." he proclaimed, grimacing wretchedly; "Please, Heero... we can do this, okay?"

He shook him lightly, somehow hoping for a reaction. There was none. Heero lay lifelessly in his arms; body limp, eyes closed... as though already dead.

"We can _do_ this, so... so just keep breathing," Duo urged him and resumed walking, heading down the hallway that would lead him out the building. "Just keep breathing... just... just keep breathing. Just breathe... that's all. Just breathe... and we'll work out the rest as we go along. I don't care that it was _her_ you called her in the end. I get why you did... I get it now. She was all you had to rely on because I was too much of a jerk to let it show. But now I'm asking for a chance to be there for you too, so just... just gimme one last chance, okay? Keep breathing, Heero... you're almost outta here."

He stopped at the doorway leading out of the massive building. Police cars and emergency vehicles were parked just outside the gate; their colorful red and blue lights flashing in the night. Duo stood there for a moment, absorbing the scene. His face was pale with fear, his lips and chin covered in Heero's blood. He held Heero tightly against him, both his hands smeared with blood still dripping from Heero's many wounds, and closed his eyes in prayer.

"Please God... just this one fucking time..." he whispered, pleading, and then stepped off the couple of stairs leading out of Bellevue Psych.

*     *     *


	15. DNR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

Bellevue Hospital was just down the street from the old BPH building. It was a Level-1 trauma center, always on stand-by to receive critically ill patients in need of rapid resuscitation.  Two EMTs – a man and a woman – rushed into its hectic ER, pushing a wheeled gurney. A couple of doctors ran over to lead them inside.

"Twenty-four-year-old male, presumed overdose," the female paramedic announced, handing one doctor a chart while addressing his senior, who was already looking over the patient.

Heero was laid on the gurney, a bloody blue sheet covering him up to his chest and an oxygen mask over his airways; the mask was a part of an ambu-bag, which the other paramedic was squeezing repeatedly to keep Heero breathing. An electrode was glued to Heero's upper arm and another to the left side of his chest, just below the collarbone. They were both connected to a portable AED kit lying between his legs. The young Preventer agent lay convulsing on the gurney, his upper body jerking slightly as he was rolled towards one of the trauma rooms.

"Tried Narcan – no response," the woman continued briefing; "Had to shock him once on the way at 300. CPR was already given in the field. Prevees say he was shocked... using an ECT machine."

The senior doctor quirked an eyebrow at her. "No kidding," he muttered and the female paramedic smiled helplessly.

"Yeah," she agreed; "Did the trick, but then he coded again on the way. Stopped breathing a couple of times too so we had to bag him. BP is now 80 over 60. SATs 96 on 100%."

They pulled the gurney over alongside a bed.

"All right," the older doctor said and all four prepared to lift Heero off the gurney and place him on the bed. "On my count: one—"

The AED kit started beeping wildly.

"Stop!" the doctor called; "V-fib!" he announced urgently and reached two hands forward. The male EMT handed him the paddles out of the AED kit. "Charge to 300," the doctor ordered sternly and pressed the paddles against Heero's bloody chest.

"Clear!"

Heero jolted up and then slumped back down against the gurney.

The AED monitor returned to beeping steadily.

"There we go," the doctor sighed, satisfied, and handed the paddles back to the paramedic. They moved Heero to the bed and immediately began their assessments:

"All right, let's get a tox screen, an EKG, a CBC, a CMP and an X-ray right away..."

*     *     *

It was two a.m. and Christmas Day was over. The ER's waiting room was dim and empty. Rows upon rows of plastic chairs stood empty, aside from a single row occupied by a lone figure. Duo sat hunched forward at the far end of the row, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting against the heels of his hands, his fingers entwined; they were still smeared with Heero's blood. Some blood also lingered to the corner of his lips, though he had managed to clean most of it off his mouth and chin. Scrubbing the blood completely off his hands proved a bit more difficult, so he gave up for the time being. He will get cleaned up later, once he knew Heero was alright and he wasn't erasing the last trace of him.

With his head curled downward, his messily-cropped hair touched the collar of his black leather jacket. He suddenly found that he missed the weight of his long braid against his back. Had it still been there, surely it would have offered him some comfort at a time like this. He felt strangely naked without it. He hoped that sacrificing his precious braid counted for something; he didn't think he could handle losing both his braid and Heero at the same night.

Agent Shaw stood in the corner of the room, by the vending machines, speaking quietly into her phone. She was still dressed in tactical gear: black uniform and body armor under a black windbreaker marked _'Preventer'_. Her long red hair was gathered into a tight ponytail. She was the only other person in the waiting room.

The sound of hurried footsteps could be heard; high heels clicking briskly against the floor as they approached. Duo looked up, raising his head and lowering his bloody hands down slowly.

Relena marched into the waiting room, looking pissed. Dressed in the same blue jeans and lavender sweater he had ripped off her body in the heat of drunken passion merely two hours ago, she stomped over to where he was sitting. He stood up, opening his mouth to speak, and then she slapped him – hard.

"You _son of a bitch_!" she spat furiously.

Agent Shaw gasped and ceased talking on her cellphone.

" _Dammit bitch!_ " Duo exclaimed; "What _da fuck?!_ "

"How _dare_ you leave me behind like this?!" Relena demanded angrily; "You went to get him and you didn't even _tell_ me?! I had to find out when it was all over!"

"Fuck, woman! Do you really think I had the time to walkyou through it!? Jesus! I barely got there in time! Five more minutes and he woulda been _dead!_ Jesus Christ Relena – what the Hell!" Duo muttered irately, rubbing his throbbing cheek.

Relena's eyes immediately noticed the blood on his hands and she calmed down somewhat, subdued by the painful realization of whose blood it was. There was some dry blood at the corner of Duo's lips too. She cast her gaze down mournfully, wincing as she looked the other way.

"He's right," Agent Shaw finally intervened and stepped between them. "I called you as soon as I could, Senator. There wasn't much time."

"He could've died and I wouldn't have been there," Relena admonished sternly, shifting her intense gaze between the two. "That's unacceptable."

"Well, he made it," Duo grunted, still rubbing his cheek. "No thanks to _these_ guys," he added nastily, glaring at Shaw.

"And what about Sloan?" Relena asked him, her blue eyes burning with fury; "Did you get him?"

"He should count his fuckin' blessings and thank God I didn't get ma hands on him first," Duo growled. "He got away... but Shaw here didn't let him get very far."

"We got him," the redheaded agent nodded to concur. "He's being processed as we speak."

"And Heero?" Relena asked the next question dreadfully.

"They got him up in surgery," Duo said, sighing. "His heart keeps failing... he keeps slipping away all the time. They told us to wait outside... and no one's told us anything yet. He could be dead for all we know," he finished miserably, shaking his head in despair. "That bastard did a real number on him," he added bitterly; "Believe me it wasn't pretty walking into that room. You should thank me for not taking you along. I don't think I'll _ever_ be able to get that image outta my head..."

"Any idea why Sloan did this?" Relena turned to Shaw. "How could he be right under your nose this whole time and no one even noticed?"

"I wish I had answers for you, Senator, but I don't," the redheaded agent apologized. "Malone is going to take Sloan into questioning. Hopefully he'll be able to shed some light on his motives. Psychos like to brag sometimes... and Sloan craves recognition. He'll talk, I'm sure."

"Frankly I don't give a shit why he did it," Duo muttered resentfully. "I just wanna see him fry for it. If Heero dies tonight I swear to God I—"

A doctor stepped into the waiting room and Duo fell abruptly silent. The three turned to greet the older man; he was the same senior trauma surgeon who had treated Heero when he was first rushed into the ER.

"How is he?" Relena asked anxiously.

"Stable," the man opened with the most crucial bit of information and they all calmed down a little. "He ODed," the doctor began to explain; "It was the drug overdose which slowed his respiratory system and heart rate. We ran a tox screen and it looks like he's been administered with a dangerous cocktail of illegal narcotics and SSRIs."

"Magic," Duo concluded easily, "That's some powerful shit."

The older man nodded. "Yes, so I hear. It's a very strong hallucinogenic, and it had a deadly affect when combined with the SSRI medication. The overdose caused serotonin toxicity, which is usually associated with multiple drug ingestion. In this case, it caused cardio-toxicity, meaning that Heero's heart muscles were damaged. His heart became weaker and not as efficient in pumping and therefore circulating blood," he elaborated further. "Given Heero's cardio-history, we had to place an AICD implant to help treat the arrhythmias."

"A pacemaker?" Relena whispered, horrified.

The doctor turned to face the worried young woman. "It's only temporary," he explained; "an AICD is a more sophisticated device than the pacemaker. It can also send defibrillation shocks and help treat sudden cardiac arrest," he clarified. "If we see that he remains stable over a long period of time, we'll remove it. Right now, we don't want to take any chances. His heart has suffered enough over the past two years."

Relena cast her eyes down shamefully, and Duo winced. Neither said a word.

"When can we see him?" Agent Shaw asked.

"We'll be keeping him sedated for a while and continue intravenous therapy of SSRIs, weaning him off of them slowly to avoid SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome and any cardiovascular side effects it might cause so his heart won't suffer any more damage," the doctor said. "We'll keep him under until the critical withdrawal symptoms are over."

"How long are we talking about here?" Duo asked.

"A few days at least," the man said, sighing. "We'll keep monitoring him closely and see how it goes. All in all, his physical injuries are not severe. The cuts are mostly superficial and we've set his broken fingers back in place."

"Was he raped?" Duo asked tensely and an awkward silence fell. He glared anxiously at the doctor, waiting for an answer. The older man cleared his throat and cast his gaze down to the floor briefly, before meeting Duo's eyes again.

"I'd have to say yes," he opened apprehensively; "a forensic medical examination didn't reveal any evidence of sperm cells and semen, but there was evidence of forcible penetration with a foreign object." [[i]]

Relena raised a hand up to cover her mouth, her eyes watering. Shaw looked mortified. Duo, however, was seething with rage.

"Even so," the doctor continued, "We've treated him with medication as a preventive measure to ensure against STDs," he said. "There was no internal damage."

"Jesus..." Duo let out, wincing. He clenched his fists tightly, glaring at the floor. "That son-of-a-bitch is gonna fucking _pay_ for this," he grumbled angrily, directing his fierce gaze at Shaw. "So much for you _lack of sexual component_ bullshit," he accused hatefully and the young agent looked away, ashamed.

Another tense silence fell, until the doctor spoke up again.

"As I said," he concluded, "our biggest concern at the moment is heart failure. Heero has been stable since he got here, so for now it's looking good." He paused for a moment, and then released a nervous sigh.

"There is this _one_ other thing..." he said uneasily, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"What is it?" Relena asked in concern. Her eyes were still glistening with sorrowful tears.

The doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Apparently, Heero's healthcare directive contains a DNR."

"DNR?" Duo arched an eyebrow, confused.

"Yes," the doctor repeated, turning to him. "It's a legal order: Do Not Resuscitate," he clarified. "Heero doesn't want any extreme measures to be taken in order to resuscitate or sustain his life."

"Son of a _bitch_..." Duo muttered in dismay.

The doctor scowled at him briefly, before turning to Relena again. "Unfortunately, the paramedics at the scene didn't know that, especially with CPR already underway, and neither did our ER staff. I must stress that we are not legally required to search patients for a DNR order. Usually people carry the order in a wallet-card, but..." he sighed. "We found out only a while ago, when accessing his healthcare directive through Preventer HR."

"So you went against his wishes," Relena surmised; "and now you're afraid we'll _sue?_ " she spoke cynically, marveling at the untimely conversation. Duo burst into laughter.

"Oh, that's _rich!_ "

"The order is legally binding," the doctor pointed out; "which means that if he codes again..."

"Wait a minute—" Duo cut in angrily; "you sayin' you'll just let him _die_?!"

"Chances are that the AICD implant will successfully restart his heart," the doctor assured them, "Unless you tell us to take it out."

"Da Hell we will!" Duo whirled around to look at Relena anxiously. "Right?"

The young senator offered the doctor a cold gracious smile. "He won't sue you, doctor," she assured the man calmly. "He might resent you for life, but he won't sue. Keep the pacemaker in."

"As much as your words reassure me, Senator, Legal still needs you to sign a liability waiver... as his next-of-kin."

Duo nearly flipped out when he heard that. He glowered accusingly at Relena – next-of- _fucking_ -kin! Some next-of-kin _she_ was if she let Heero sign his own death sentence! He would have jammed that damn DNR down Heero's throat before he let him hand it in!

"I'll be more than happy to do that and take the heat for you, doctor," Relena said calmly, ignoring Duo's scowling face and keeping her eyes on the doctor. "When can we go see him?"

"He'll be in recovery for another hour at most and then a nurse will show you to his room."

"Thank you, doctor," Shaw said, smiling kindly, and the man nodded in acknowledgment. He left.

"I have to make some calls," Agent Shaw apologized to the two. "I'll be back soon," she promised and stepped out of the waiting room as well, already dialing. Duo and Relena remained standing at the end of the large empty hall, staring at each other awkwardly.

Duo broke the uncomfortable silence with a heavy sigh and turned to have a seat. The plastic chair creaked as he settled back into it and resumed staring dully into thin air. Relena observed him quietly for a moment, her eyes lingering to the blood on his hands, before she sighed too and took the seat next to him. They settled in for a long wait.

For a long while, neither one of them moved. They simply stared quietly ahead, their expressions bleak and lost in thought. When Duo finally shifted, Relena glanced towards him, her eyes drawn to the movement of his hand. She focused her eyes on the clotted blood under his fingernails and felt a chill creep down her spine. She watched him reach into his jacket and pull out two small pill containers; the same ones he took from Heero's kitchen when he finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. He fumbled with them in both hands, turning them round and round in a mindless, nervous, game of fingers.

"I took them along in case I had to convince Shaw about Sloan," he explained; "turns out there was no need... one close look at the bastard's records and they all agreed with me."

He closed his fists tightly around the bottles.

"Son of a bitch's been poisoning Heero for God knows how long and no one even noticed. I don't get it... how could Heero trust him? How could he just take a bunch of pills and..." he sighed, shaking his head. "It musta been real bad if he was so desperate to get better..."

"I wouldn't exactly call it _desperate_ ," Relena sighed sadly. "He didn't really care. That's probably why he signed the DNR order. He just... he couldn't function without those things and taking them was a lesser evil, I suppose. If he was to live, he wanted to be stable so he could keep working, and I guess the end justified the means. Work was all he had. He was probably hoping to die in the line of duty one day, and he had to take those meds to ensure that he will," she finished with sad smile.

"Yeah well, I hate these God damn things," Duo mumbled with a sigh, still fumbling with the small bottles. "I guess I hate the idea of having all of my problems neatly labeled, cataloged and prescribed with just the right amount of medication. It just makes it feel so... _lame_. Like... I dunno. Like it ain't all that. Like this thing that feels so fucking _huge_ inside of me is actually so... _small_. You can just take care of it with a little white pill and be done with it."

Relena observed him worriedly as he gazed at the bottles quietly for a moment.

"It pisses me off... being labeled as sick, yanno?" he muttered and clutched his fists tighter around the small bottles. "Everything feels so... _BIG_. It just fills everything and... Sometimes it's okay, but usually it's too much. People tell me it isn't supposed to be that way... but I never felt anything else. What I feel for him it's... it's everything. It... It doesn't leave much room for anything else. It drives me crazy... but if I wasn't so God damn crazy I never woulda figured it out. If doctors wouldn't have tried to shove those cursed things down my throat, I woulda looked at those pills and wouldn't have given it a second thought. I dunno..." he sighed, "Maybe... maybe I was meant to be this fucked-up. I wouldn't have been able to save Heero otherwise. He woulda died and no one woulda figured out who killed him. Maybe I was meant to love him so much I couldn't handle the size of it. Maybe this love is so fucking big so I won't miss it... so I won't be able to ignore it, even after all this time. Maybe this _crazy_ is part of God's plan for me... for both of us. Maybe that's what saves us..."

Relena offered him a small, sad, smile. She tapped on his leg lightly, trying to give some reassurance. "Maybe," she agreed, whispering. "It's a comforting thought. If you hadn't been there to resuscitate him, they would have let him go because of that damn DNR. You got his heart going again and they carried on from where you left off... saving him. Maybe it was meant to be."

"Yeah, well, coulda fooled me..." Duo muttered bitterly and shoved the pill bottles back into his jacket pockets. "Fooled me twice, actually, because in the end... Heero chose you again." He turned to her; blue eyes burning accusingly. "Maybe this _big love_ of mine is only meant to be one-sided," he mumbled sadly; "Maybe it's just meant for me, so I would save him... and bring him back to you."

She bowed her head, looking away shamefully.

"Am I right?" he asked and Relena closed her eyes sadly.

"Sloan said Heero called _you_ in the end."

"He did," she confirmed, sighing. She opened her eyes, pulled out her smartphone and stared at it, her blue eyes shimmering with tears.

"He tried to call, but I didn't answer," she mumbled guiltily. "Can you imagine what he must have thought? His last few moments and I... He could have died thinking I had abandoned him." Her voice trembled as she fought back the tears. "God, this is..." She heaved a burdened sigh. "Three times he called and we were too busy having..." her voice trailed off and she shook her head in self-reprimand. She opened her eyes and stared ahead ruefully.

"I'll never forgive myself."

Duo studied her face in guilty silence. He cast his gaze down, ashamed.

"He left me a message," Relena suddenly added and glanced down at her phone again.

Duo swallowed the lump in his throat. "What did he say?" he asked dreadfully.

"I don't know," she admitted; "I didn't have the heart to listen to it yet," she said and swiped her finger across the touch-screen, unlocking it. Duo grimaced when he saw her lock-screen wallpaper: a picture of Heero and their daughter. He shivered, feeling awful. He watched her French-manicured fingers work the phone, entering the call-log. There were three missing calls listed, all of them from Heero, and one voicemail message waiting. She pressed on the icon to open it. The phone dialed her voicemail box. He wondered if she was going to let him hear it too, but then she gave the mailbox the order to delete the message without even playing it.

Duo gaped at her, stunned. "What did you do _that_ for?!" he exclaimed. She had just deleted Heero's last words! Even if that wasn't really his final message, he still thought it would be... and she deleted it without even listening to what he had to say! That was beyond disrespectful. It was... appalling!

"How can you do this to him?"

Relena tucked her phone back into her pocket. "I have to," she said, sighing, "It's for his own good..." she added and stood up. Duo remained seated, looking up at her in confusion.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, baffled.

"Yes," she said; "I'll sign their stupid legal papers and then I'll go."

"But—but... _why?_ "

"Because I can't be here when he wakes up," she explained. "One look into his eyes and I'll stay. I have to leave now."

"But—but—that don't make no sense!"

She smiled sadly. "Of course it does," she said; "You're the one he needs to see. We've been over this. It's my turn to step aside. I'm not leaving him a choice."

"But _you're_ the one he called! His last words were to you... Heero chose _you_ , Relena... not me. I can't help him the way you do. I never could."

She slipped a hand into her jeans pocket again. This time, she pulled out a key – Heero's apartment key. She handed it to Duo.

"Take good care of him, you hear?" she requested, tears in her eyes. "He isn't going to let you... but promise me that you will."

Duo reached up numbly, accepting the key. He closed his fist around it tightly, still gaping at Relena.

"He's gonna ask for you..." he mumbled, still dazed; "He'll wanna know why he's still alive... what am I s'pose to say?"

Relena smiled sadly. "Tell him you love him... and that you're not going to leave," she said, shedding sorrowful tears. "And when he pushed you away, you push back harder," she added with a wistful smile, and walked away.

*     *     *

Darkness was wrapped around him like a thick snug blanket. A tremendous weight was pushing down against him, keeping him under. His body was numb, heavy and warm; solid and completely deadened. All he could feel was warmth. It tingled in his flesh, pumping through his veins. It was unpleasant warmth; an ill kind of heat pulsing in his limbs. There was a dull ache in his chest; it burnt. Something cold, scratchy and uncomfortable was pinned under his nose. Little by little more sensations began to register: faint noises, distant and muffled; a steady beep and the hiss of airflow. He could feel the cool jet of air tickle his nostrils. It smelled like plastic. He tried to turn his head away from the distasteful scent, but it would not budge. He would have moaned, but his throat was parched, as dry as sand. His tongue felt very swollen. He was bone dry; so thirsty...

He tried to move, but his body was too numb. All he managed was a slight twitch of his fingers. They were stiff and aching; a few of them were caught in something tight. He could feel something soft under his fingertips... the touch of wool. A sluggish smile spread over his cracked lips. _The blanket's back_ , he realized with great relief.

He wanted to hold it, to make sure no one would take it away again, but his fingers wouldn't cooperate. The best he could do was pinch the fabric, nothing more, but it was still something. He held onto it the best he could, slowly drifting back to sleep.

Someone stepped closer; a sound of footsteps approaching from the shadows. Frightened that someone was coming to take his blanket away, he struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids were terribly heavy; he could barely lift them half-way. He stared dully at the darkness.

A hazy figure in white emerged from the blackness overhead. It leaned over him, examining something beyond his line of sight. He gaped dazedly at the figure, watching it reach its hands towards the IV bag hanging from above. A distant light caught in the clear liquid inside, illuminating the bag just enough so he could see its faint outlines in the dark.

"Oh God!" a female voice suddenly gasped and he blinked, stunned. His eyes darted towards the figure's face. She was a young woman... a nurse? She looked upset.

"You're not supposed to be up yet," she whispered anxiously, checking the IV drip again. "I'll go get the doctor," she mumbled and disappeared back into the shadows. He turned his head aside limply, watching her leave. A door swung shut behind her, concealing what little light had poured into his darkness. Silence fell, aside from the steady beeping and the low hiss of air. He exhaled a weary breath, pinched the blanket a bit tighter to make sure it was still there, and closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep. He was so thirsty...

*     *     *

Duo walked down the aisle leading towards the grand golden-white sanctuary at Saint Peter's Church, looking up in awe. White statues of Christ and various Saints guarded the sanctuary from both sides. A painting of the Crucifixion hung over the altar, flanked by statues of St. Peter to the left and St. Paul to the right.

The church was empty; the pews stood completely bare. A glorious chandelier hung above the nave, illuminating the great hall with a bright atmosphere of holy grandeur. Stained-glass windows of brilliant flowing color displayed medallions and religious figures against a delicate luminous background of gold and white. Duo marched slowly towards the altar, his eyes fixed on the painting of Jesus hanging from the cross, watching the imposing picture with great trepidation.

"The last words of a dying man can tell a lot about his life," a deep male voice vibrated through the empty church. It carried a thick Scottish accent. "These words reflect a true understanding of God and mankind..."

Duo stopped, searching for the speaker.

"A man's last words may be fearful, resentful or senile, however rarely confident," the Scottish voice continued and Duo recognized the scornful tone. He turned around to face the chancel again. An old man was standing by the pulpit, a priest. His black outfit was torn and dusty, like he had just crawled out of smoking rubble. Duo gaped at the man, aghast as though he was seeing a ghost, and perhaps he was, because he was looking at Father Maxwell.

"But to confess need, weakness or injury opens up our heart for God to heal," Father Maxwell continued to sermonize. He was speaking to an invisible congregation. His eyes didn't acknowledge Duo's presence; he was looking straight past him as though he wasn't there.

"Resentment and anger say _'I'll get even'_ , or _'God doesn't care'_ , but a hopeful and trusting person confesses his need and weakness to God. If not in life, then in his final moments..."

"The old man sure couldn't get enough of preaching about the Crucifixion, now could he?" another male voice commented dryly. Duo turned towards it and saw Father Dixon sitting slouched casually on one of the empty pews, looking up at the sanctuary. "Scared the shit outta you kids, didn't he?" He turned to Duo, smiling cockily.

"...and so Pontius Pilate who was thus instructed by the Jews, sentenced Jesus to be scourged and crucified," old Sister Ignatius informed the class with her dry monotonous voice and rolling Irish accent; "They tied our Lord to a post and whipped him on his back, tearing at his skin, and a crown of thorns was put on his head..."

Always the joker, he had mock-imitated the ridiculously stern manner in which she carried herself, and the class laughed. Sister Ignatius turned from the blackboard, scowling.

"Who finds this funny!" she demanded strictly. Her Irish accent reached a high-pitched tone when angry that made the class snigger.

"Who? Who is so _amused_ at the suffering of Christ who sacrificed his life for your sins?!" And her eyes immediately fell on him. He grinned, giving her one of his infamous Devil-may-care smiles; a smile that drove the Sisters _nuts_.

"But Sister, if Jesus sacrificed his life for my sins, isn't it a big waste unless I sin a lot?" he asked, beaming proudly at his own witty remark, and the students laughed again.

Sister Ignatius, however, was far from pleased. "I can see that I have not imparted to you the true nature of Christ's suffering," she scolded darkly. "Since I have obviously failed to illustrate for you the nature of the sacrifice suffered by our Lord, I have no choice but to demonstrate it so you may better understand what you mock so arrogantly," she announced, snarling meanly, and the class moaned in protest, some students glaring at him accusingly.

"I will need a volunteer," the Sister declared in her disgusting self-righteous way. "How about you, Duo?" she asked, smiling coldly. "You're a strong boy, you God awful child. How about you help us examine the scourge and crucifixion of Christ in a more _tangible_ manner..."

He was only six or so and by the time Sister Ignatius was done with him he was more than eager to repent:

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he cried in front of the whole class. His peers sat in horrified silence, their little faces pale with terror as they watched him shed blood and tears under Sister Ignatius' flagellum whip; thongs of leather ripping the clothes off his back, cutting into the flesh until the skin of his back sagged off his body and hung down in ribbons. She had beaten his little body to a pulp. His blood-soaked shirt fused to the dripping wounds on his back, ripping his flesh further when he tried to move away from the whip. Torrents of pain exploded in his brain until his very soul cried out:

"I'm sorry! It's my fault! I'm sorry! I did that to Jesus! I killed him! It's my fault he got nailed to the cross... I did that to him! I did it... I did it... I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't sin again... I'm sorry!"

"What better way to make sure you damn _brats_ repent your sins, right?" Father Dixon muttered and Duo blinked, dazed. He gaped at the old priest, too mortified to speak or move. Father Maxwell had banished Sister Ignatius from the church, but the damage has already been done. He will forever bear the scars she had inflicted on his body and soul with the lash of her whip; from then on, guilt has been a constant companion.

Dixon smiled in sympathy. "We have a lot to feel guilty about, don't we, Duo?"

He shivered and looked away, his eyes falling on Father Maxwell again.

He remembered stepping into the church one day after Sunday Mass. The main hall was empty and he didn't quite recall what he was doing there all alone, but he caught Father Dixon, then a young man, and one of the Sisters together. Dixon had her pinned against the wall, leaning over her, his hand up her gown, exposing a white thigh. They were giggling like a couple of school children when suddenly Sister Catherine gasped and stopped whatever they were doing.

"Robert," she whispered, stifling a laugh, "there's a child watching..."

And Father Dixon turned to him, smiling slyly. "Let him watch," he said and turned to the Sister again, leaning in closer. "He might learn something..." he added playfully and winked at him while kissing Sister Catherine's neck.

They were all sinners... all of them. The church was a place of sin just like any other Hellhole on L2. Father Maxwell was just too stubborn to see it. He only saw the good in people, and he had died for his blind faith, bringing the whole church down with him. Good people and bad... they all burnt together that day; all except Dixon and him – the compulsory survivors, the only two who weren't there during the massacre.

"...Our Lord's final words," Father Maxwell was still preaching to an empty nave; "his seven final statements from the cross, offer eternal confidence. There is the promise of forgiveness, the promise of Heaven, the promise of family, the promise of God's watchfulness, the promise of resources and resolve, and the promise of God's sovereign care..."

Father Dixon scoffed insolently. Duo ignored him.

"Keeping that in mind, we can gain a new and greater appreciation for Jesus' fifth statement from the cross," the old priest claimed; "It was a simple statement. He didn't cry out with a loud voice. In fact, it was probably said softly: 'I thirst'."

Duo felt a painful pang in his chest, but he didn't know why.

"There are times in our lives, maybe long periods of time, when we may suffer in very deep physical ways," Father Maxwell continued. "When our bodies scream and cry out with the hope to be renewed. At times like these, we can have hope, because in our physical pain we are not alone, for God himself has suffered. We must understand that and hang on to this precious truth in times of dire need and despair. We may be shocked to hear that our Savior cried out just as you and I would. Yet, the suffering of Jesus was _real_. He had no special exemptions, not because He was the son of God. In fact, those exemptions for suffering were taken on by Jesus, so we wouldn't have to suffer them. His experience of physical pain was as deep and real as any that we would experience. He felt thirst just as you and I would... only his thirst was not just of the physical kind..."

Duo swallowed, suddenly feeling parched.

"Hell is a place of eternal thirst," Father Maxwell warned; "There is no thirst in heaven, but those who are condemned to suffer in Hell for eternity will forever thirst, not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually. All of mankind has a thirst for something: for fulfillment, for satisfaction, a thirst for forgiveness, a thirst for God... a thirst for love. The real question is: how long are you going to thirst? You can continue as you are and end up thirsting for all eternity, or you can trust Jesus as your Savior and never thirst again!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Duo heard his child-self cry out in agony; the small and tortured voice echoed within the large hall. "It's my fault! I did it! I killed him! I'm sorry!"

He dropped to his knees in front of the altar, crying. He looked up at the painting of the Crucifixion and felt his whole being shudder with fear and unimaginable guilt.

"Oh God..." he wept mournfully, "I'm so sorry..."

His eyes fell down to look upon the Communion Table. Heero was laid there like a slain lamb; nude and bloody, head and limbs sprawled lifelessly on the altar... only it wasn't an altar, but the reclined dentist-like chair. Heero's flesh was sliced and bleeding, square iron nails driven into his wrists and into the arch of each foot. He lay there in extremis, his compressed heart struggling to pump thick, heavy, _sluggish_ blood to the tissues... but failing. His heart was too far gone... and it was all his fault.

"Oh God... Heero... I'm so sorry!" he called out brokenly, sobbing. "Please don't die... I'm sorry! I did this to you... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry!"

His eyes sought the painting of his Lord again and when he looked up at the sanctuary, he saw writing in blood spread all the way across the holy shrine. The words were spelled in Heero's blood:

 

**WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID HE MIGHT ASK YOU TO DO?**

 

And he realized that God's challenge was not to step away as Relena had done, but to stay; to give everything he had been holding back on... and then some. What he was being asked to do was to face the guilt and stay by Heero's side. It was the only way to atone for his sins. It was the only way to save his condemned soul.

Duo woke up with a jerk.

He was sitting on a row of waiting chairs just outside Heero's hospital room, leaning back in sleep and holding his black leather jacket spread across his torso like a blanket. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He cleared his throat and straightened up, running a hand through his messy short hair a couple of times.

A nurse suddenly came out of Heero's room, running. He stood up.

"Is something wrong?" he asked anxiously. His voice was trembling, still suffering from the heart-wrenching effects of his nightmare.

The nurse stopped and turned to him. "His sedation wore off earlier than it should have," she explained fretfully; "I'm calling the anesthesiologist," she added and hurried towards the nurses' station, picking up a phone.

Duo watched her for a moment longer, before turning to look at Heero's room. The door was closed; a small window at its center offered only a view of darkness. He hesitated and then stepped closer. Dread pounded in his chest much as it had while walking down St. Peter's aisle in his dream.

He stopped in front of the closed door, his hands on the handle, but didn't dare to enter. Images flashed through his head: Heero lying slaughtered on the altar... sacrificed for his sins, suffering for his abandonment.

"Jesus..." he mumbled under his breath, closing his eyes; "Get a grip..." he whispered in self-reproached, opened his eyes again, and pushed down the handle.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint light pouring in from the hallway, and a soft green glow of a monitor above the bed; it was registering Heero's vitals. There was low beeping sound, indicating a steady pulse. Duo took a deep breath, and entered the room.

The door closed behind him. It clicked softly as it was shut under its own momentum. Hearing it, Heero opened his eyes again. He squinted against the darkness and tried to make something out of the faint outlines he saw everywhere. He pinched the soft wool under his fingertips, just to make sure it was still there.

Another figure emerged from the shadows, shrouded in darkness as it approached slowly. Relief washed over him when he recognized its familiar outlines. It was Duo. He was back.

He smiled faintly, recalling the kiss. He struggled to lift a hand up so he could touch Duo's face, but he couldn't; it was too heavy. He slumped, sinking against a soft surface, fatigued. He closed his aching eyes and licked his chapped lips, moaning.

"C-can... can you... get me... some... water?" he croaked weakly, his voice barely audible.

"Sure," Duo whispered and turned into the shadows. Heero smiled to himself, comforted by the thought that Duo was playing along this time, pretending that he was willing to quench his terrible thirst instead of just reminding him that he was nothing but a dream.

Something wet touched his lips and he gasped, eyes snapping open in shock. Two damp fingers were smearing cold water against his cracked lips; _real_ water... pure heaven. A hand slipped behind his head, lifting it gently. Something cool was served to his lips and liquid was carefully poured into his gaping mouth. He coughed, sputtering water, and his eyes darted up towards the young man leaning over him. He could see Duo's features so clearly... he was completely out of the shadows now. His face was different... older; somber and mature. The braid was gone. Duo's hair was cut to shoulder-length, messy and uneven as though it had been cropped hastily by a butcher's knife.

This wasn't Shadow-Duo, Heero realized with horror. This Duo was _real._

 **HE'D SPIT RIGHT IN YOUR FACE ONCE HE SEES YOU,** the Voice reminded him cruelly and he panicked, searching the darkness for its source. The monitor above the bed beeped erratically, registering a dangerously accelerating heart rate.

**HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU.**

Heero wheezed loudly, his breath erratic, eyes shifting anxiously around the dark room. He couldn't see anything. The Voice was coming from inside his own head!

 **DUO WOULD NEVER WANT A _WHORE!_** It laughed, taunting, and he clamped his ears shut, trying to block it out. His whole body shook uncontrollably. The Voice was still laughing.

**HE NEVER WANTED YOU. NO ONE EVER DOES, SEIKI...**

Heero gasped loudly, choking; he was being strangled by the Voice.

**YOU ARE _NOT_ IMPORTANT. YOU NEVER WERE AND NEVER WILL BE – TO _ANY_ ONE.**

The monitor was beeping frantically.

"Oh God... Heero – what's wrong?" Duo called out helplessly.

An alarm blared loudly. A doctor and nurse burst into the room, flipping on the lights.

"What the Hell happened?!" the doctor barked and pushed Duo aside. The nurse was already adjusting Heero's oxygen supply and securing the NC tube under his nose.

"I dunno!" Duo exclaimed, backing away from the bed; "I just gave him some water..." he mumbled quietly, confused. His own heart was palpitating strongly in his chest. He faltered, dizzy, and had to lean against the wall for support. He stood in the back of the room and watched guiltily as the two tried to undo whatever he had done to Heero.

*     *     *

Heaving a tired sigh, Duo collapsed against the bathroom vanity in his hotel room, supporting himself with two outstretched arms. He hung his head low, his eyes closed in fatigue. Housekeeping must have already paid a visit to his room that morning, because the sink and vanity were clean. His hacked braid was gone, but they left his cellphone and silver cross necklace resting by the soap dispenser.

He raised his head up slightly, looking miserably at his refection in the mirror. A stranger was staring back; he hardly recognized himself with this short and messy hairdo. He looked terrible, utterly horror-struck. Clotted blood blemished the corner of his mouth; he stared at it the longest.

The feeling of filth and blood clinging to his skin became too much, suffocating him. Suddenly he became aware that his clothes were also stained with it. The black sweater he wore under his leather jacket was soaked with blood, as were his faded black jeans. Heero's blood... it was everywhere.

He wriggled out of his jacket hastily, throwing it to the floor, and then raised his blood-drenched sweater above his head, revealing his well-toned torso. The blood had soaked straight through the knitted fabric; streaks of red smeared across his abdomen and chest. He threw the sweater to the floor, scrambled out of his jeans and entered the shower stall. He turned the water on the hottest setting he could bear, and simply stood there under the powerful stream, exhausted.

Torrents of hot water beat down against his scarred back. The old welts throbbed as though fresh again. He turned the faucet to a hotter setting, trying to scald the pain away and forget all about the faith that was brutally bestowed upon him with the lash of a whip.

He scrubbed the blood off his skin harshly, rubbing a bar of soap hard against his red and raw skin. He picked the clotted blood out from under his fingernails almost obsessively, desperate to wash away every last trace of Heero's blood off his hands. It didn't ease the guilt one bit, but at least he could erase any physical evidence of it.

The water flooding the white shower basin at his feet turned red. He watched the bloody water circle down the drain, staring at it dully.

The doctors said Heero had suffered a panic attack, not a cardiovascular event as they had first feared when entering the room. Apparently, he was quite prone to those nowadays. Anxiety Disorder, they said; his medical records indicated that he had experienced a severe attack not long before his abduction. They then claimed that the anesthesia wore off because they gave him a lower dosage, due to his compromised cardiac function, and that in the midst of the drug-induced confusion, Heero simply lost it. They had to sedate him again, using a larger dose with hopes that it will keep him under for a few days without also endangering his weakened heart.

A _weakened_ heart... Duo couldn't bear listening anymore. How can anyone refer to Heero's heart as _weak?_ How can the heart of the strongest, most resilient and resolved person he has ever known – that once zealous boy who used to fuck his brains out in the shower between battles – be weak? After all Heero has been through, after all his heart has endured, shouldn't they commend it for being _strong?_ How _dare_ they call it _weak!_ It will never be _weak_ , no matter what medical terms they threw at it.

No; Heero's heart will never be _weak_ , never falter. And such a strong and loving heart was worthy of all the love in the whole _fucking_ world. So if it's Relena he wanted to love, then so be it. He will respect that choice; a choice Heero had made in blood and tears. Disregarding it would be cruel.

He just wished that he could step into the same room as Heero without causing him further heartache and distress. Heero had panicked because he recognized him, of that he was sure. His presence had brought on an onslaught of anxiety that threatened Heero's heart. He wouldn't have reacted that way if Relena was there when he first opened his eyes. He will wake up again in a few days and she still won't be there. That _bitch!_ She left and he would have to be the one to break Heero's heart with news of her departure. God damn her... why was she doing this? He was ready to step aside again, no hard feelings this time, but she _left_. She left Heero to him. Why the Hell would she do that when she knew _she_ was the one Heero called? If she truly loved him, then why cause him more suffering?

"Oh God..." Duo moaned, closing his eyes in despair. He hated himself so much for wishing _her_ back, but Heero needed her... and he would do anything for him right now. _Anything._ Maybe if he left she'll have no choice but to come back. She won't leave Heero all alone. She won't.

Duo closed the water and stepped out of the shower. He stood in front of the foggy mirror, naked, and stared at his reflection numbly until the steam cleared, forming into fat droplets of condensation. He glared at his mirror image with a pair of fierce and resolute blue eyes.

His soul be damned... he will do this for Heero's sake.

Glancing down at the vanity, he looked his cross, lying next to his cellphone; discarded. He studied it for a moment, his expression torn. He slipped the thin silver necklace off the smooth ceramic surface. Holding the cross in his hand, he closed his fist around it tightly and looked up at his reflection again. Looking himself in the eye, he fastened the necklace around his neck. He let go and the pendant dangled over his chest, the weight of the cross pulling down against his neck. He stared at its reflection, feeling numb inside yet somehow... whole again.

Duo turned to his cellphone next. He snatched it off the vanity and unlocked the screen with a swipe of his finger. It was showing 13 missing calls and 6 voicemail messages waiting. He dialed the voicemail box, feeling anxious for some reason. He couldn't help but hope to hear a message from Heero and gain the perfect excuse to take back the promise he had just made in front of God, and himself.

A monotonous female voice began to dictate the messages and Duo felt his stomach flip nervously.

"You have. Six. Messages. Message. One. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Five. PM:"

"Duo, it's Shaw. I've been trying to get a hold of you. It's urgent. Please call me when you get this message. There's been another call."

"Message. Two. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Twelve. Past. Seven. PM:"

"Duo, uh... hi. It's me, uhm, Roz." There was a short hesitant pause. "I just wanted to call 'n thank you for lettin' Tomás stay over this Christmas. I get real busy this time a year and... well, I appreciate it. He really liked all those soda pops you left for him in the fridge... so thanks. I didn't see you workin' at the soup kitchen this year... you're outta town? Are you sure it's okay Tomás is stayin' over this whole time? I know you left him a key 'n everything, but it feels like too much, so... just makin' sure you're cool with it. Merry Christmas, Duo. And thank you for everything."

"Message. Three. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Seventeen. Past. Eight. PM:"

"Duo, it's Shaw again. Senator Darlian said you're not answering her calls either. We've been trying to get a hold of you all evening. I hope you're not out there doing anything stupid. Please give me a call as soon as you hear this."

"Message. Four. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Nine. Thirty. PM:"

"We missed you at Mass this Christmas." It was Father Dixon; "Word has it that you left L2 a few days back. You didn't tell me you were planning a trip... I hope nothing's wrong. Hey, is this about that guy you were telling me about? If it is then good going, kid. I didn't think you have it in you to do more than just _whine_ about it, and I can't think of a better reason to leave this Hellhole than for love. Still, it don't look like you've been tying up any loose ends around here, so... what gives? You better not be using again – you hear me? If I hear that the only reason you lost touch was because you were lying stoned out of your mind someplace, I'm gonna _hang_ you, okay?" He paused for a moment. "Well, wherever you are, I hope you're having a less shitty Christmas than you had last year. Call me when you can. I'm not just your dealer, you know. God bless."

"Message. Five. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Thirteen. Past. Eleven. PM:"

"Hey Duo, it's Hilde. Look uh, I know it's been ages since we talked, but it's Christmas 'n all and... well, I know how tough this time of year can get, so... I'm just checking up on you, I guess. I heard about the Pit... are you all right? Did you lose anyone you know? I hope you're not doing anything stupid because of what happened. I told you that if I have to fly over nine-months pregnant to get your _junkie_ _ass_ out of trouble _one_ more time, I swear to God you'll never see my face again afterwards." She sighed. "...I mean it this time, Duo. I'm going to be a mother soon... I can't keep doing this every time you fall. I love you to death, but I swear to God I'll kill you if you're back in the habit. Call me when you get the chance so I'll know I'm just frettin' over nothing... hormones 'n all, yanno? And please don't be high when you do. Jason doesn't like me speaking to you as it is."

"Message. Six. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Twenty. To. Midnight:"

"Hello Duo, it's... it's Clara. I didn't see you at Jesse's funeral and there's been no word from you since. I hope you're not avoiding me. You used to come over every Christmas... even after Joe..." She heaved a miserable sigh. "I hope you don't feel the need to stay away now that Jesse's gone too. I pray that you're well. Please know that I harbor no hard feelings. What happened at the Pit was nobody's fault. Jesse did this to himself... there was nothing you could've done. You should count yourself lucky that you didn't sink as low as he had. In the very least, Joe was able to talk enough sense into you and make sure you'd be able to keep your head above water on your own. Jesse wasn't that lucky... and it's not your fault. Anyway, I'd like to hear back from you. Let me know how you're doing. Joe would have liked it if we kept in touch, I think... especially now. So call back, alright? I'll be waiting."

"End of messages," the monotonous female voice announced briskly; "To replay press..."

Duo hung up, disappointed. Those messages were just a reminder of the life he had put on hold, and not much of a life at that. They were nothing more than a few courtesy calls from the people he left behind on L2. Loose ends, as Dixon called them; it would take less than a day to tie them all up and leave that shitty life behind. He wasn't fooled by the heartfelt messages. People were only calling because it was Christmas. On any other day of the year, his voicemail box would have been empty. He didn't really have anyone... well, maybe except Dixon. Why, even the guys from work didn't bother calling, and why should they? He always kept his distance, being physically there with them while hanging out, but never really _being_ there. Still, he couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment; maybe because deep down he wanted to hear some genuine care, not just friendly obligation, or maybe just because he had somehow hoped that he would also get a message from Heero. He shouldn't have expected one, but he did. _Stupid asshole._

Heero really freaked out when he saw him. He obviously didn't expect to see him there, so why would there be a message? Heero didn't think of him in his final hour, and why should he? He was used to having Relena by his side. It was _her_ Heero had called in the end. It was _her_ he wanted and now he was stuck with _him_ , the poor bastard. Fate was cruel that way, wasn't it? Even after so much hurting, neither one of them got what they want. They came so close and somehow everything got messed up anyway. Heero didn't want him there and, knowing that, Duo didn't really want to go back into that hospital room either. The last thing he wanted was to cause the man he loved more heartache. Heero was heartbroken as it were.

He sighed, looking down at his phone. He entered the call-log so that the missing calls icon would vanish from the main screen. His eyes skimmed over the log briskly:

Shaw... (3)

Relena... (2)

Dixon... (2)

Hilde... (1)

Clara... (2)

He gaped at the last line: Heero... (3)

Duo raised his head to stare at his reflection, stupefied.

*     *     *

Late at night, a sleek and modern luxury apartment stood dark, silent and empty. A large panoramic window offered a stunning view of Washington DC at night; the city lights reflected on the polished hardwood floor, painting it with drops of vivid colors.

The sound of keys sliding into the lock disturbed the heavy silence. The front door opened and a pair of stylish high heel shoes tapped quietly on the refined floorboards, stepping inside. A small travel-bag was dropped, landing next to them with a loud _'thud!'_ A French-manicured hand pushed the elegant door close. It was shut with a quiet _'click_ '.

Exhaling a long heavy breath, Relena leaned against the door, closing her eyes. She inhaled deeply; trying to control her breathing, for her chest was trembling with sobs that were aching to come out. Eventually she gave in, and a shaky whimper breached past her trembling lips. She couldn't hold back anymore and burst into tears. She stood there, leaning against the door, facing a large and empty apartment, and cried so hard that she was screaming out in pain.

*     *     *

A nurse walked into Heero's dark hospital room, leaving the door open as she stepped in quietly. The fluorescent lights from the hallway provided just enough illumination to see what she was doing. She approached the bed, checked that he was sleeping, and then turned to change the nearly empty IV bag with a fresh one.

On the bed, Heero lay on his back, covered by a blue wool blanket. He was deep asleep; his head lolled to the side and his messy long bangs falling over his closed eyes. An NC tube was placed in his nostrils. His scabbing lips were slightly agape in slumber, a bit of drool gathering at the corner of his mouth, some sliding down his stubble-covered chin. His limp arms rested over the soft blue blanket; they were bandaged tightly, and a few of his fingers were set in splints. He was holding a bit of fabric pinched between broken fingers.

The nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and took a measure. She wrote it down on his chart. She looked at his monitor, noting his heart rate as well. She jotted it down too and placed the chart back in its holder hanging on the bed. She left the room, closing the door quietly.

*     *     *

JFK was the only international airport in the New York City area that also served as a spaceport. A whole section of the massive airport was designed for space travel, complete with its own especially-designated runways, space shuttle hangars and terminal.

Duo stepped off the JFK AirTrain, holding his tattered old duffle bag. He plodded into the spaceport terminal, a dour expression on his hard features. He made his way through a horde of faceless people, heading for the airlines' check-in desks. He stopped by a desk under the name of United Interstellar and handed a pleasant-looking female clerk his ticket and Colony passport. She accepted them with a smile.

"Going home, sir?" she asked politely as she examined his passport.

"Yeah," he grunted, staring numbly at her hands clicking away at her computer station.

"Must've been hard being away on Christmas," she commented ignorantly and handed him back his passport and boarding pass, smiling pleasantly. He gawked at her dully for a moment, before taking back his documents. "Yeah," he mumbled dismissively and tucked the passport into his black leather jacket.

"Do you have anyone waiting for you up there?" she continued making useless conversation even as he prepared to leave.

"Nope," he replied dryly, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "Just some loose ends..." he added cynically and the young woman's face suddenly seemed uneasy. She offered him another gracious smile.

"Have a pleasant flight, sir."

"Right," Duo returned the gesture halfheartedly and proceeded towards the departures gatehouse.

*     *     *

 

[i] Forcible penetration with a foreign object is identical to rape. It is punishable by New York State Penal Law as Aggravated Sexual Abuse in the First Degree.


	16. RP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

His fingers twitched, searching for the blanket, but instead of wool they encountered skin. Nerves slowly came to life, sending his brain a message of what they felt: someone was holding his hand. It was the first solid feeling to really register within the haze of sensations swirling lazily around his arousing mind, because it was so unusual: soft velvet skin against his callous and dry tissue, long slim fingers wrapped around his broken and aching digits... _A woman's hand_ , his brain supplied.

He could smell the sweet scent of her perfume. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite match a face to the memorable fragrance. He tried to open his eyes, wishing to see who was the mystery woman holding his hand?

Waking up completely was a difficult task; even more than usual. At least a ton of weights was holding him down, refusing to let him rise to the surface. He ordered his eyelids to open. They throbbed and fluttered as they lifted; he imagined them groaning under the strain. Harsh light poured into his sore eyes. His breath hitched fearfully and he snapped them shut again. Light meant pain. It meant that his torturer was still there, waiting with another series of prying questions... wishing to pick on whatever was left of his soul like vultures descending onto a rotting cadaver. He moaned and turned his head away from the cruel white light.

The hand holding his tightened its grasp.

"Heero?" a female voice spoke softly; "are you awake?"

The question was simple, harmless. It wasn't the Voice speaking, trying to drill into his soul and pluck it out. No, this voice was familiar... safe?

Still fuzzy, he reopened his eyes and turned towards it carefully. His vision was blurry. He blinked, trying to focus on the woman sitting next to his bed. _Relena..?_ He wondered dimly. She didn't leave him? Even after what he had confessed?

He blinked again. His vision gradually adjusted to the light, clearing. He stared at the woman, gaping meekly at her white and freckled face. _No, not Relena,_ he realized sadly. Relena wasn't there, his muddled mind surmised. This was the first time in years that he woke up in a hospital and she wasn't by his side. His heart shuddered dreadfully. She left him, didn't she? She left him because the Voice was right... about everything.

The young woman sitting by his bed, looking at him worriedly, was Agent Shaw. The redheaded agent was wearing her Preventer uniform. Her red hair was braided into a slim plait resting over her shoulder. Heero gaped at it drearily. His mind buzzed. Something was wrong. The braid was just _wrong_ ; out of place. Where was Duo? He had been there, right? Or was it just another dream? Is _this_ a dream? Was he safe, or was he still tied down to that chair, dreaming?

 _No, not a dream_ , he decided. He never would have dreamt about Shaw.

Glancing up warily, his eyes met Shaw's bright green gaze. She smiled at him softly; a small, friendly gesture to hide her discomfort. He studied her pale pink lips until his vision blurred. He recalled trying to kiss her and a wave of dizziness assaulted him, making him feel nauseated. He closed his eyes, feeling faint, and only opened them again when heard her voice speak to him:

"Hey there, partner," Merida greeted, letting go of his hand. "Welcome to AC 205," she opened with a small joke, smiling nervously.

Heero blinked a few times until his eyes focused on her. He stared at her blankly until his eyes glazed over. Shaw's smile slowly faded, vanquished by the heavy tension hanging in the air. She sighed and leaned back into her seat, allowing her eyes to wander while she tried to think of what to say next. She studied the monitor above his bed; it was registering a slow heartbeat.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and turned to face him again. "I, uh... Your doctor said they'll be waking you up today," she explained her presence, even though there was no question in his eyes. There was _nothing_ in his eyes.

"So I stopped by on the way to work," she added, casting her gaze down, afraid he might mistake her compassion for pity. There was no reaction. Heero didn't say anything, he just... _stared_. His silence was not unusual and yet, severely disturbing. It was a thick, unbearable silence. He studied her quietly, no light in his Prussian blue eyes. The fierce fire she was so used to seeing in her partner's eyes had been tamed. It was as if he wasn't even there. Heero's bleary blue eyes were fixed on a vague, distant point beyond her. His features were pale, his expression bland.

His hair, usually a rich and lively chocolate-brown mane, hung lifelessly from his head, flat bangs obscuring his eyes and forehead. White morning light washed over his gaunt face, emphasizing its hollow and sunken appearance. He had been starved.

His lips were split; healing scabs tarnishing pale pink skin. Bruises marred his handsome face, as well as his bony wrists – welts. He had fought against his bonds.

Cuts blemished every visible patch of his whitish skin, the largest one peeking under his patient scrubs – a thick red gash slicing him from the throat down. He had been tortured with a knife.

Six of his fingers on both hands, three on his right and three on his left, were held in splints. They had been broken, the joints yanked brutally out of place. Merida's gaze lingered to the abused digits, her gut convulsing sickly. She tried not to wince and looked up, contemplating whether or not she should reach for Heero's hand again, to pull him out of his trance. His meek staring was very unnerving.

"I uh... I brought you something," she mumbled nervously and reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a small green pack of Skittles and presented to him with a soft smile. Heero didn't even turn to look at it; his gaze seemed far away.

"Since they probably won't let you smoke in here..." she attempted a joke, though her voice wavered. She released a nervous chuckle and placed the Skittles on the nightstand by the bed. She turned to him again, but he was still looking straight past her. She sighed, dejected.

A sudden noise came from the corridor just outside the door. Heero blinked and his eyes darted towards it. Someone walked by, talking loudly. A cart rattled as it was pushed and then silence fell again. He stared at the door for a moment longer, before casting his gaze down. Merida's heart cringed with a pang of sympathy. He was waiting for someone to come...

"They uh... left," she mumbled, staring at the floor for she couldn't bear looking him in the eye for this. "Senator Darlian left the night you were rescued and..." She dared looking up again, her green eyes shining with compassion. "Duo left the next day," she finished quietly, sighing. "I don't know why..." she added helplessly, "I'm so sorry, Heero. I don't think they're coming back."

He turned to look at her, moving his head sluggishly. His pale, unshaven features were completely expressionless. The blankness was ten times more unsettling than his usually fierce glare. He just lay there silently, accepting the news of their abandonment. The sight was gut-wrenching. Shaw shifted her weight from side to side, uncomfortable.

"You've been unconscious for a week," she decided to update him; she had to keep talking or else she'd surrender to the burning feeling that kept nagging her to bolt out of the room. "The doctors kept you under so you won't have to suffer through withdrawal..." She cast her eyes down uneasily; she felt bad for mentioning the torture he had endured. "You've been drugged for so long that your body became addicted to it," she added quietly and dared looking up, meeting his numb blue eyes.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked sympathetically, reaching for his hand again. It was cold and limp. "Should I get a doctor? They could probably fill you in better than I can... There's also this thing about your heart... should I get someone?"

Heero gave no response. He just... _stared_. His hand felt completely lifeless in her grasp. She let go and it fell back against the bed. She leaned back into her seat, smiling awkwardly. She felt that she should say something more, _anything_ , but what did one say to a man who's been through Hell and back only to find out that he's been abandoned by the only two people he seemed to care about?

"I can't really stay long..." Merida mumbled apologetically, and only then it occurred to her that that was the _wrong_ thing to say. The exact opposite of what she _should_ have said.

She strained to offer a remorseful smile.

"It's been kind of crazy lately," she tried to explain; "IA has been all over us ever since we figured it was... well..." she stopped and studied his face carefully for a reaction, but there was none. Heero was simply laying there, his head turned towards her, but his eyes gazing numbly into the distance.

She cleared her throat again. "Anyway," she continued; "I won't bore you with the details."

Heero shifted his desolate gaze to the ceiling. He studied it mutely. She felt compelled to look up as well and noted that he was staring at a large stain on the ceiling, directly above his bed. It was just a big brown blob, which apparently was more interesting than her at the moment. She sighed and lowered her head down again.

"I uh... I brought you a new cellphone," she declared just to break the troubling silence. She pulled a small device out of her Preventer jacket and placed it on the small night table by the bed. "Nothing fancy," she added in apology, "just some old thing I had lying around, but it will get the job done until you can get a new one."

She studied his face for a reaction, thinking perhaps she was referring to a very touchy subject, but there was none. She cleared her throat and forced on another nervous smile.

"Davis from Tech helped me set it up with the same number and I asked him to transfer all of your contacts and data from the old phone. I hope I that's okay... I didn't think you'd want to lose the data when ECU [[i]] took your phone."

She stopped, daring to meet his eyes again. Heero was now watching her intently. She finally said something that mattered. She noted that his fists were clenched, gripping the blanket tightly even with broken fingers.

"I made certain that all of your photos are there," she assured him, smiling sadly for she felt heavily burdened by his heartrending history. She had snooped through his phone a couple of weeks back, curious about him, but never imagined what kind of tragic tale hid behind the photos he kept on his phone. He never told her about his daughter, but now she knew. She knew a lot more than she was supposed to know about him; things he had kept even from the person closest to him, but now _everyone_ knew, since the call he had been forced to make was tapped. She could tell that he was slowly realizing it too, because a moist sheen of tears now glistened in his sorrowful blue eyes. He closed them sadly and the salty droplets overflowed, sliding silently down his unshaven cheeks. He inhaled deeply, his breath shuddering, and opened his eyes again. They were flooded with tears. He turned his head the other way, staring at the wall through a blur of tears, uselessly trying to hide his disgrace.

Merida bowed her head down mournfully. She shouldn't see this. She shouldn't even _be_ here... They weren't close that way. They weren't close in _any_ way, but if she left he would have no one, and she won't be able to live with herself for leaving him in a time of need. He didn't deserve such cruelty. He didn't deserve _any_ kind of cruelty, not after the atrocities he had suffered throughout his life. She wished she didn't have to know those things about him, but now she did. She knew _all_ of it, after reading Sloan's notes. They found a bunch of them in the basement where he held Heero, in a locked desk drawer in his office, as well as a draft paper on his computer. The psychopath wrote the fucking book on Heero. He was composing a paper about his compulsory patient. Sloan has taken compulsory psychiatric treatment to a whole new level, and she was the one who had to compile the detailed report about it before handing over the case to the DA's office.

Tears welled in her eyes. She hurried to wipe them away.

"I'm so sorry, Heero," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I should have listened to you that night, at the bar... I'm so sorry. I... It never would've occurred to me that it could be him... No one even considered Sloan... Duo was the one who figured it out."

He turned back to face her, his tearful eyes wide with surprised.

"Yeah," she mumbled; "I don't know how... but he did. He was the one who got you out of there, but then he... he left. I don't why... I'm so sorry."

For a moment, he just stared at her dully, before turning back to face the opposite wall. He nodded faintly, accepting her apology, and closed his eyes. More tears overflowed, tracing his stubbly cheeks. He was breathing heavily, trying to stop the tears.

She felt so sorry for him. She knew that she shouldn't show it, that he didn't want her compassion, but she couldn't stop herself. Knowing his pain so intimately yet being unable to comfort him was just too much. She felt for him, but she also felt powerless to help. She wasn't the person he needed by his side right now...

"Is there anyone else I could call?" she suggested carefully, also on the verge of tears. "Anyone at all?"

Heero grimaced, shaking his head, eyes still closed.

Discouraged, Shaw cast her gaze down to the floor. She took a deep breath, trying to overcome the painful angst thudding in her chest. She looked at him again.

"Is there anything I can get you then?" she asked instead; "Do you need anything?"

For a while, he didn't even move. He laid still, eyes closed and fists clenched. Gradually, his breathing calmed. He opened his eyes, blinking away the last of his tears, and resumed staring blankly at the wall. She thought he had ignored or dismissed her question, but then he reached a bandaged hand up slowly, testing the skin on his face with the tip of his broken fingers. He rubbed them against the thick stubble on his tear-streaked cheeks and then turned around to look at her. Merida smiled slightly, getting the message.

"A razor?" she asked just to confirm, mildly amused because they've had this sort of conversation before.

He nodded, lowering his bandaged hand to the bed again.

"Sure," she hurried to say, "I'll get you some toiletries before I go, okay? I think there's a shop downstairs," she said and offered him a soft smile. "Maybe you wouldn't mind talking to me after you brush your teeth?" she suggested in good humor, chuckling tensely.

Heero turned to lie on his side, facing the opposite wall. The blue wool blanket twisted around him and slid off his shoulders as he turned, exposing a muscular arm under his short-sleeved hospital gown. His arm was marred with scabbing red cuts, the deeper ones seamed with black stitches. She studied his injuries quietly, feeling sick, until he pulled the blanket back up to his neck, hiding.

Shaw sighed and cast her gaze down again.

A few minutes passed in heavy silence. Glancing up carefully, she stared numbly at his hunched backside. He looked so frail under that blanket... so beaten. Her heart twitched painfully.

"I'll go tell the doctor you're awake, okay?" she finally said, her voice faltering slightly. She stood up slowly, stalling for she hoped for some kind of a response, but there was none. She sighed and stepped out of the room, mumbling under her breath: "They should be _ashamed_ of themselves..."

*     *     *

Once the door closed, Heero curled further inwards, holding the blanket up against his neck. Feeling the sting of tears, he closed his eyes in a useless attempt to stop them. It didn't work. With his back to the door, he curled deeper into himself, pulled the blanket over his head, pressed his face into the pillow, and wept silently, stifling his cries. The only evidence of his sorrow was the movement of his back under the blanket as it quaked with suppressed sobs.

*     *     *

A mass of gray buildings blurred into a concrete-mash; a dense urban setting speeding past a car window as it drove down a busy street. Duo sat in the back of a cab. His small duffle bag rested by his side on the back seat. His hair had been trimmed. It no longer hung as messy and uneven stands of cropped hair dangling down to his shoulders, but it was cut and styled into a trendy medium-length layered-cut reaching down to the nape of his neck, complete with bangs. He had a lot of time to kill while waiting for his connection on the moon, so he stopped by a barbershop at the terminal's shopping center.

His black leather jacket hung open, revealing the simple gray shirt he wore underneath and the plain silver cross dangling from a thin chain around his neck. He sat with his hands in his lap, fumbling with a small metallic object, bouncing it between two nervous hands. It was a key; Heero's key. He stared at it dully, an abject expression on his somber face as his thoughts drifted.

Instead of heading straight home, the first thing he did when he arrived at L2 was go to work. The guys had cheered when he entered the station. He was a walking legend – the L2 detective who caught the psycho terrorizing the utopia below. They found the irony terribly amusing, but he couldn't share their joyful sarcasm. It was hard feeling like a hero when the man he loved was the one who had to pay the price.

Even the Chief was pleased with him for once. He had wrapped his heavy arm around his shoulders proudly and praised him in front of the whole God damn station. It made Duo sick. He just wanted to get out of there already. He turned to the Chief and asked to speak with him privately in his office, where he then tendered his resignation. The man was stunned beyond words.

Duo's cellphone rang, tearing into his reminiscing. He ceased shuffling the key and pulled the phone from his jeans' pocket. The caller ID read _'Relena'_ and he frowned. What the Hell? Why was _she_ calling?!

He took the call, scowling as he pressed to phone to his ear.

"You play dirty, Maxwell," she snapped without even giving him the chance to say hello.

"Da fucking is that?!"

"I trusted you, but it wasn't _one_ day before you left!" she accused poisonously. "You thought that if you went back to space I'll come back, didn't you? That way you'll be off the hook. According to my book, that's playing dirty."

"What?! No!" he hurried to defend himself. "I didn't—"

"Don't _bullshit_ me, Maxwell. I _know_ you went back to space. You took a shuttle flight out of New York the day I left. You left him to wake up to an empty room, Duo – why!"

"Heero woke up?!" he called out anxiously, his face paling; "Already? When?!"

" _Today!_ " she barked; "Shaw called me and gave this whole _lecture_ on how I should be ashamed of myself for leaving! I told her I left him to you and then she told me you cashed in your return ticket _days_ ago! She couldn't even get a hold of you, you _bastard!_ You left and dropped _completely_ off radar!"

"I was in fucking _space!_ " he exploded heatedly; "It was a 72 hour _round-trip_ for fuck sake! I wasn't avoiding nobody! I was en route!"

"Why on Earth would you leave at a time like this?!"

"So I could wrap things up, pack my _shitty little life_ into a damn box and rush back here before he woke up! Jesus... I got back here as soon as I could! I just landed... He wasn't supposed to be up yet!"

"Well he is!" she snapped; "God, Duo, couldn't you wait a few days?"

"I wanted to get it over with so I could be here _completely_ when he wakes up," he moaned miserably; "Shit, I... I didn't wanna leave afterwards... when he's awake. I just had a few loose ends to tie up and then I came straight back here. I was up there for about a _day_ , that's it. They said they won't wake him up 'til after the New Year... I shoulda been here on time!"

Relena was quiet for a change, taking it all in. She sighed. "Well you must have forgotten to account for the time difference, because it's been _five_ days here. It's January first, Duo. They woke him up this morning."

"Jesus..." Duo sighed heavily, shaking his head and running a hand through his long bangs; "Jetlag got me all messed up... fuck." He winced, feeling terrible. He had let Heero down again. _Dammit!_

He turned to look out the window. The taxi had just passed the Williamsburg Bridge over the East River and was heading into Manhattan. He looked down at the key he was holding in hand, grimacing disappointedly. He thought he'd be able to stop by Heero's place first, tidy it up a bit, maybe freshen up after a 36 hour long flight from L2, but it looked like he had to make a change of plans.

He returned his attention back to the phone.

"I'm on my way there now," he assured Relena. "I swear to God I am."

"Fix this, Duo," she warned, "or I see your visa revoked – _permanently_. Screw this up and you won't set _foot_ on Earth again – got it?"

He scowled darkly. He didn't take threats too kindly.

"I _will_ get it right this time. And then you set me up with permanent residency so I can stay with him – deal?"

"You mean it?"

"Yeah, I do. Deal?"

"You'll stay with him, no matter what?" she still pressed on; "Even when he acts like a total jerk? Even when he gets so fucking _frustrating_ you can't stand being in the same room with him anymore? You'll stay this time... through all of it?"

"Yes! Okay – yes! I'll take whatever he'll throw at me, okay? But I won't be able to do all that if I haffta go back to space every couple of months! Now – do we have a deal or do you want this in writing first?"

"We have a deal," she finally agreed and he could actually hear the smug smile in her voice. She liked getting her own way, didn't she?

Duo snapped his cellphone shut, clicking his tongue in annoyance. He leaned forward to speak to the cabbie. "Change of address," he told him; "Get me to Bellevue Hospital."

*     *     *

Dressed in a plain blue hospital gown reaching down to his kneecaps, Heero stood in front of the sink in the small bathroom adjacent to his private hospital room. The gown's sloppy wide collar slid off his slumped shoulders, exposing injured skin and his prominent collarbone. The twill-tape ties that fastened the gown in the back were loose, revealing his smooth backside and a hint of his firm buttocks. His toned calves were covered in cuts, as were his arms. The injured skin around his wrists and ankles was raw and red. He held a small navy-blue toiletries bag over the sink, rummaging through it with splinted fingers.

He pulled out a razor and a travel-size bottle of shaving gel. After staring at them dully for a moment, he glanced up at the mirror and gaped at his unkempt and ashen reflection. Two weeks' worth of thick stubble covered his pale cheeks and chin. His face itched. He looked like a damn _monkey_. A nurse had offered to shave him but he had pushed her away. He didn't want anyone to touch him. He could do it himself. He didn't need anyone. He was used to fending on his own. He didn't need anyone. He didn't need them. He didn't.

His hand trembled strongly as he dipped the razor into the lukewarm water filling the sink. It wasn't easy holding it steadily using only his thumb and middle finger, but he managed. Soon the water filled with floating bristle and foam. He shaved carefully, focused solely on this one, simple, mechanical task.

His mind gradually emptied and the void left room for memories to creep in. They stirred in the back of his head, simmering to a boil, threatening to overwhelm him. He shoved them aside forcefully, trying to ignore their obstinate presence. They resisted and he pushed them back with all his might. It wasn't enough. They pushed back harder, intended on drowning him. He tried to escape, but they piled up and towered over him, blocking his path and intimidating him into submission. His knees gave way and he collapsed, buried under a pile of harrowing nightmares. His mind crumbled. His sanity... gone. The darkness swallowed him and he was sent spiraling into a bottomless pit, screaming in terror.

He felt a sharp sting in his cheek and recoiled back, gasping as he snapped out of his daydream. He looked at his reflection and saw that he had cut himself shaving. The right side of his face was clean shaven, but the left was still covered in foam. Blood sheeted down his foamy left cheek. He allowed his cheek to bleed and stared at it numbly, unable to feel even this small pain. It didn't matter. Nothing did or ever will again. He was dead, _murdered_... butchered by a madman. Not just his body, but his very soul has been raped. He wasn't sure which was worse. It didn't matter; he was dead either way. And yet, life still clung to him like a _disease_ , refusing to let go even though he was already decomposing inside. There was nothing left of him now... nothing. He was forced to go on living as an empty shell. But that was okay. There wasn't much life in him to begin with.

He reached his hand, the one holding the razor, up, and tugged the gown down until he could see the small horizontal scar just under his left collarbone. He stared at it desolately until his eyes watered. He didn't care enough to stop the tears. They slid slowly down his cheeks, mixing with blood, bristle and foam.

He didn't want such measures to be taken in order to save his life. It was not worth the trouble. He did the damn paperwork... why was he still alive?

His cursed flesh still pulsed with life, burning and aching as blood pumped through his veins. He was only alive because his heart was still beating, because someone had fought to revive it and then implanted something inside to keep it beating. It was just an empty husk pounding in his chest due to technological aid. Without it, his heart would have been still and he wouldn't have had to suffer through the agony of listening to its persistent thudding echo unbearably loud in his ears. He never realized before just how loud it was. Suddenly, it was all he could hear.

He touched the scar carefully, tracing the tip of his broken fingers over the rough line of raw skin.

His wounds will heal with time; they always did. He had recovered from wounds far worse than these. They will heal and he will carry on living with the scars; an empty life... a routine that will wear him away and escort him to his grave. He will get up in the morning and go from one mechanical task to another: he will brush his teeth and shave; he will force some food down his throat three times a day; he will make it through the day somehow, shower and brush his teeth again before he will go to bed to fight off nightmares, just so he could start all over again in the morning. This half-life kind of existence was the only way he could go on living,decaying exponentially until there was nothing left of his physical being. That was okay. No one wanted... needed... him alive anyway. No one cared. The Voice was right. No one cared. Why should they?

So he will go on living as though dead – rewarded with another chance at a life he didn't truly deserve, while being punished for his unwarranted survival. It will be a compromise between life and death; the only way to atone for his iniquitous existence.

He looked away from the pacemaker scar, his eyes slowly traveling up to look at the reflection of his bleeding face. He froze. There was a second reflection in the mirror. For a second he was certain that he was hallucinating again, but even after he blinked the reflection was still there. Someone was standing at the bathroom doorway, directly behind him, peeking hesitantly inside. It was Duo: a tall, broad-shouldered and older Duo; his features sharp, the fool's smile gone, his cobalt eyes broodingly attentive. He was not the sprightly teenage boy Heero remembered from years ago. This Duo was older; somber, guarded... mellowed down. His hair was shorter, _much_ shorter. This strange version of Duo was standing at the bathroom doorstep, looking at him with quiet apprehension in his soulful cobalt eyes.

Heero could smell the heavy scent of cigarettes and leather from across the small room. The strong scent meant that this Duo was _real_. He was real and he was back... why?

Their eyes met through the mirror.

His body wavered; his knees shaking. Some doctor had said that he was still suffering from withdrawal symptoms; the shakes were a part of it. He reached a quivering hand to grab the sink, steadying himself. He felt so weak... he couldn't stand. He was so tired of the fight to keep standing... what was the point?

His heart thumped wildly, hammering in his chest; so loud... _too_ loud. He turned around, slowly, but not all the way to face Duo. He couldn't face him, not like this. Not while he felt so... damaged, so _dirty_. Duo knew about the museum, didn't he? Everyone knew about it now. The Voice was right about that too. That's all they'll ever see in him now, the unwanted _filth_. He could never wash it away.

Standing with his profile to the door, he bowed his head down, ashamed. His cheek was still bleeding; he could feel the sting. He reached a hand up, slowly, and wiped it away with the heel of his palm. He stared at the blood meekly as he stood hunched down in defeat.

"I, uh... I didn't know it was Tuesday already," he heard Duo say, and it didn't make any sense. The real Duo never made any sense. He looked up from his bloody hand, frowning in confusion. He studied Duo from behind the shelter of his messy bangs, trying to decipher his strange words; the first words he has spoken to him in over eight years and they meant nothing. Words meant nothing. He had nothing left to say. No more words.

"It was the time difference, see," Duo continued; he seemed nervous. "I meant to be here on time... really I did. I wasn't tryin' to leave or nuthin'. Not this time. I was gonna be here, but it got screwed up... my bad."

Oh, it was an apology of sorts, Heero realized. He raised his head up fully, leveling his gaze with Duo's. He was still holding his bloody hand up, but his bleary blue eyes were on Duo. He waited.

"Guess we have this bad habit of starting off on the wrong foot, huh?" Duo let out with an uneasy chuckle.

Heero gaped at him in a stupor, his body turned only halfway to the door; caught between the impulse to cringe away and the urge compelling him to run straight into Duo's arms. Was he apologizing because he felt sorry for him? Was that it? Did he feel sorry for him because of the filth?

The Voice was right about that too. It was right about everything.

"I'm here to change all that," Duo promised, smiling helplessly, nervous. "I wanna start over. You... you tried to call me. I... I didn't think you would and I... I... I'd like to think that it means something and, uh... you're...not... _talking_ to me... are you?" he realized slowly, shaking his head in dismay. "Right," he sighed, his shoulders slumping tiredly. "What else is new?"

He studied Heero carefully, but the young man still hasn't moved away from the sink. He just _stood there_ , with the left side of his face covered in shaving-foam, his cheek bleeding, a bright sheen of tears in his dull blue eyes and his bloody hand raised up to his chest, frozen in mid-motion. Duo shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. Heero seemed so brittle under that big sloppy gown. He recalled how terrifying it felt holding Heero's frail, nude and bleeding body, fearing he might exhale his last breath in his arms. Tears stung his eyes and he fought them off with a big fake smile.

"Need any help with that?" he asked with a cracking voice while gesturing forward with his head. Heero was still holding the bloody razor in his other hand, dangling lifelessly at his side. Only then Heero seemed to realize that he was still holding the razor. He lowered his head down sluggishly and stared numbly at the razor held limply between the only two working fingers on his right hand. He curled his fist around it tightly and looked back at Duo again, his expression hard with resolved.

He stepped over to the door.

Duo felt relieved. Heero was willing to make this first small step, which was good. They'll take it one step at a time... baby steps, he decided, reassured, and when Heero reached the doorway, Duo gave him this big smile, trying to convey all that hope in a single expression.

Heero stared back blankly, and then shut the door in his face.

Duo recoiled back a step, blinking in a daze. He stared at the closed door, feeling like an ass. " _Great_ ," he sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

*     *     *

Minutes passed. The bathroom door remained closed. Dense silence filled the room. Duo didn't move away from the door yet. He stared at it dreadfully, a million and one horrible scenarios running through is head. What was Heero doing in there... with a razor?

Then after a while he heard the sound of running water. Heero was taking a shower. That must be a good thing, right? First a shave, now a shower... he'll feel like himself again in not time, right?

Feeling drained from his long commute, he slumped into a chair by the bed, throwing his duffle bag between his legs and waited. He ran a hand through his short hair, still surprised by how short it was, and fluffed his short bangs out of his eyes. He resumed staring at the closed bathroom door, listening to the sound of water still running in the shower.

He must have dozed off at some point because suddenly he jerked awake, gasping quietly. He straightened up in his seat, looking around.

The bathroom door was still closed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. It's been over twenty-five minutes.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath and jumped out of the chair, leaping towards the door. He pounded on it anxiously.

"Heero?" he called; "You okay in there?"

There was no answer. He didn't expect one.

"I'm coming in," he announced as he reached for the handle. "No funny stuff," he added and opened the door. Steam drifted out. He opened the door fully. It was like a sauna inside. A thick cloud of hot steam hovered in the air, obscuring everything. Duo stepped inside, looking around fearfully. The moisture plastered his short bangs over his forehead. He shoved them out of his eyes and reached a hand forward blindly until he encountered the shower curtain surrounding the stall. He yanked it aside.

As the steam dissipated slowly, he saw Heero sitting on the wet floor, his knees drawn up to his chest and his broken hands cradling his head. He sat huddled in the corner under a hot and powerful shower stream. His drenched hospital gown clung to his scrawny frame. His eyes were wide open, staring unseeingly ahead. His face was smooth except for a small cut on his left cheek. The water must have been scalding, because Heero's skin was screaming-red, almost as red as the welts around his wrists and ankles. The hot shower wasn't just meant to cleanse, it was meant to _hurt_.

"Jesus Christ!" Duo hissed and hurried inside to turn off the faucet.

"Help!" he hollered hysterically as he took a knee next to Heero, gathering the catatonic young man into his arms. The hot water soaking the hospital gown stung the bare skin on his hands. It _burnt._

"Oh my God!" he gasped, mortified. Clutching Heero protectively against him, he whirled his head towards the door, screaming: "I NEED HELP IN HERE!!!"

*     *     *

"It's called Reactive Psychosis," a doctor explained to Duo as the two stood by Heero's hospital bed. The young man was laid on it, naked, only his privates covered by a blanket pooled around his waist. Two nurses tended his burns with ointment and gauzes. Heero lay passively still, staring at the ceiling. He was gripping a pinch of the blanket in each hand.

"It's a short-term illness with psychotic symptoms that usually occur as a reaction to a very disturbing event," the doctor elaborated and Duo turned back to face the older man.

"You mean he lost it?" he asked, grimacing.

"It's too early to tell," the doctor said; "RP can last from a few days to about a month, but the longer it takes for the symptoms to subside, the more likely it is that we're dealing with something else and we have to commit the patient to psych."

"Jesus," Duo sighed, closing his eyes for a brief second or else he would lose his cool. He looked over to the bed again, studying Heero's expressionless face with a pair of pained blue eyes. The nurses had just finished treating his burnt skin and were packing up.

"Luckily the hospital has a TMV installed in each bathroom to ensure safe water temperatures," the doctor continued; "if he hadn't been there that long, the scalding wouldn't have been this bad," he said, sighing. "We'll need to keep him under close observation from now on."

Duo turned back to the doctor, scowling threateningly. "You mean like _commit_ him? Didn't you just say this RP thing will go away on its own?"

"Hopefully... yes," the older man confirmed, though he didn't look very reassured; "but we have to take some precautions."

Duo frowned. "Like what?"

One of the nurses suddenly yelped in alarm. Her cry was followed by a loud racket of rattling chains. Duo whirled around to face the bed again and his eyes widened with horror when he saw what was going on: the two nurses had just restrained Heero's limbs with soft padded cuffs around his wrists and ankles; medical restraints, which Heero struggled against in frenzy. He thrashed crazily, tugging at the cuffs so forcefully that the bed shook. His blue eyes were wild, haunted; sheer panic raging in his eyes. He was letting out these horrible little cries, mute screams that came out as nothing more than quiet distressed screeching sounds, like a wounded cornered animal. It was _awful_.

" _Da fuck_ are you doing?!" Duo called out and launched at the bed, shoving the nurses aside. "He don't need _that!_ " he shouted at them while fumbling with the cuffs' buckles, untying them hastily. "You're only makin' it worse!" he accused heatedly as he freed Heero's jerking arms from the restraints. Once free, Heero tried to push him away, flinging both his arms around violently.

"Heero! Heero! Calm down! _Calm._ _Down!_ " Duo pleaded fretfully as he tried to grab his arms. He managed to get hold of the young man by both his wrists. Heero fought him, trying to yank his arms free and Duo had to use force to bring his panicked thrashing under control.

"It's okay, it's okay..." he kept whispering over and over, as though gentling a wild animal. He pulled Heero to sit up so he could embrace him; his ankles were still secured to the bed. He trapped Heero's arms between them, thus immobilizing him, and wrapped his arms around Heero tightly, pulling him even closer. The young man jerked in his arms, his body twitching uncontrollably, trying to push off of him. He rocked Heero back and forth, holding him tight, one arm around him and his other hand on the back of Heero's head, pressing him against the hollow of his shoulder.

"Shush..." he whispered softly, rocking back and forth and caressing the wet hairs on the back of Heero's head; "I'm here to help," he promised, "I won't let 'em tie you up. I won't let anyone touch you. Shush... Just breathe, Heero... c'mon... just breathe with me. Just breathe..."

Leaning against Duo's broad shoulder, Heero stared unseeingly ahead with wide unblinking eyes. Duo kept rocking gently until the jolting subsided. Gradually, Heero's body stilled in Duo's embrace, docile once more. He stared ahead dully.

A nurse approached, holding up a syringe.

Heero's eyes darted towards her, locking on the needle. He watched her step closer and his breath shortened, hyperventilating. The panic was back in an instant. He tried to push away from Duo, writhing violently in his arms, struggling to free himself from the tight embrace.

Duo turned to look over his shoulder and immediately spotted the source of Heero's renewed distress.

"No needle!" he shouted, straining to contain Heero again; "Don't a _nybody_ touch him!" he threatened nastily and the nurse froze, frightened. She turned to look at the doctor.

"He needs to be sedated," the man told Duo sternly.

" _No_ ," Duo countered harshly; "what he _needs_ is for you to get _da fuck_ outta here!"

He turned back to Heero, grabbing him by his face to stop his crazed thrashing. He held Heero's head between two hands, forcing the distraught young man to look at him. Wild Prussian blue eyes darted back and forth across the room, looking anywhere but at Duo.

"Heero, _look_ at me," he ordered firmly, shaking Heero's head. "Look at me, Heero! _Look._ _At. Me!_ "

Heero turned his eyes to look him. His body was extremely tense, but no longer jerking violently. Duo looked him square in the eye, still holding his head on both sides.

"Ain't nobody gonna touch you, okay?" he promised, speaking slowly, as though addressing a frightened child; luckily, he's had a lot of practice with Tomás. Suddenly, it made perfect sense. He had been chosen to take care of the boy so he would one day be able to take care of Heero. It was all part of a bigger plan he would never be able to fully comprehend.

"I ain't gonna let _anyone_ touch you, got it? I'll fuckin' _kill_ anyone who tries, okay?"

The nurse with the needle turned to look uneasily at the doctor. The older man motioned her to step down and she lowered the syringe, taking a step back. Glaring at Duo, the doctor gestured with his head for both nurses to leave the room. They were more than happy to oblige and scrambled hastily out of the room. Heero watched them leave. Once they were out the door, the doctor gave Duo this _look_ and then left as well.

Held in Duo's arms, Heero stared at the empty doorway. His harsh panting gradually calmed and he slumped heavily against Duo. He rested his head on his shoulder, staring numbly into thin air.

*     *     *

"That was _completely_ uncalled for!" Duo snapped at the doctor the minute he was out of Heero's room. The young man was lying curled on the bed, the blanket drawn up to his neck. He was staring dazedly ahead in the general direction of the door, where the two were standing.

"Do you have _any_ idea what he's been through?!" Duo demanded angrily. "Da fuck were you thinkin' restraining him like that!"

"It's for his own good," the doctor insisted.

" _Da Hell_ it is! You scared _da shit_ outta him! I'm taking him home. You got no business treatin' him this way."

"He's already displayed harmful behavior. He might injure himself or others. Our protocols are very clear on this."

"Fuck protocols! No more damn restraints!"

"He is clearly a danger."

"Believe me, if he was any real danger, you'd be _dead_."

"He doesn't belong in this ward," the doctor scolded; "He is violent, uncommunicative and frankly, I think he'll be better off in psych."

"He _is_ communicative!" Duo exclaimed in despair. "He just... hasn't talked yet. You don't know him... it's not that unusual. He's _in_ there. He just... doesn't wanna talk yet. I get that. You should too."

"Look, there is nothing physically wrong with him," the doctor tried to explain; "nothing that requires keeping him here. He belongs in psych."

"Don't you fuckin' tell me where he _belongs!_ You're gonna take him up there and pump him full of shit and he'll never be him again and I won't have that!"

"Considering his history, I think that's our best option."

"What fuckin' _history?!_ "

"He's been committed before," the doctor said, looking confused as though he was expecting Duo to know this. "Two years ago. His record says he spent two months in a psych ward in DC. He was catatonic then too, treated with high doses of benzodiazepines... even shock treatment."

"Jesus..." Duo let out, stupefied. Why hasn't Relena mentioned anything?! She did say that Heero had a total breakdown, but she never said anything about him being committed! Shit! She was trying to defend Heero's dignity, he got that, but she should have said something! How did she expect him to take care of Heero when _she_ was the one with all the information? Or maybe that was the point. Maybe she wanted him to find out on his own, to get to know Heero for himself without her acting as their mediator. But Goddammit... she should have said something about the fucking shock treatments!

"No way," he asserted firmly, glowering at the older man with a dangerous sheen in his eyes. "No shock treatment. I won't allow it."

"It's the best course of treatment at this stage," the doctor insisted; "ECT is the most effective treatment for catatonia, as well as for most of the underlying causes, like psychosis. It's his best chance, before this gets any worse."

"Hook him up to an ECT machine and I rip your heart outta your throat – got that?"

"It's not your call."

"Then whose call _is_ it?! He obviously can't make it on his own!"

"It says in Heero's healthcare directive that he has designated Ms. Darlian as his medical power of attorney."

"So _she_ gets to decide course of treatment?"

"Yes."

"And if she wants to get him outta here?

"That's her call, though I would advise against it."

"Well isn't _that_ just _fine 'n_ _dandy_..." Duo muttered bitterly, pulling his cellphone out of his jeans while glaring at the doctor. He dialed Relena's number. Why did it _always_ have to come back to _her_? It felt like there will never be a _'them'_ , without _her –_ God _damn_ her!

*     *     *

Duo parked Heero's black SUV in front of his East Village apartment building and turned to look at the quiet young man sitting in the passenger's seat, the blue wool hospital blanket draped over his shoulders, wrapped around him. He sat still, staring numbly out the windshield, clutching the blanket closed around his chest with a broken hand. He refused to part with it even when the nurses protested. Duo had to shut them up and pay a God damn fine.

Heero's posture was slumped, demure. His other broken hand rested limply in his lap, holding a small green pack of Skittles between splinted fingers. It was the only thing he took with him when they left the hospital other than the blanket.

He had given Heero a change of clothes from the meager belongings he had packed into his duffle bag. He had no shoes to give him, so he went out to buy him a pair of plain sneakers. The man had dressed silently, avoiding eye contact, and Duo did his best not to gawk at the hideous scabbing all over his body. After nearly two weeks without proper nourishment, the clothes hung sloppily from Heero's scrawny frame. The jeans barely held onto his unhealthily slim waist and the baggy black sweatshirt sagged from his slouched shoulders. Although finally fully dressed, Heero had wrapped the blanket around him again.

Heero's SUV was still parked in the hospital's parking lot, right where Duo had left it on Christmas. He still had the keys with him. Heero stood passively in the middle of the underground parking lot, the blanket hanging from his shoulders, and stared dully at the car. Duo had to guide him towards it by placing a hand on Heero's bony back, nudging him forward gently so he'd walk. He opened the passenger door and waited patiently until Heero decided to go in.

He studied Heero silently, giving him a moment to observe the familiar street, to realize that he was home, safe. It wasn't snowing for a change and the skies were rather clear, partly cloudy. The sun was out, shining down on tall red-bricked buildings, colorful shops and green trees, making the dense street seem a little less gloomy. For the first time since he's been here, Duo could see that it was actually a very nice neighborhood. Things always looked better once the storm has finally passed.

"I'll be stayin' in town if you need anything," Duo said quietly, looking at Heero carefully for a reaction. The young man didn't even turn to look at him. He gazed out at the street, his face blank.

"Or I can stay, if you want..." he suggested timidly; "whatever you need. I won't push it, so... just say so."

He looked hopefully at Heero, giving him a minute, but there was no response.

"Right," he muttered, disappointed. "Well... you have my number," he said and pulled out Heero's cellphone – the one Shaw had given him – from his jeans' pocket and placed it on the dashboard. Heero glanced at it briefly, before fixing his eyes out the windshield again.

"Okay then," Duo sighed and opened the driver side door. He left the keys in the ignition. He had hooked Heero's apartment key in the car-keys keychain as well. He took his duffle bag from the backseat and stepped out of the car. He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and leaned in, looking tensely at Heero.

"I'm s'posed to be keeping an eye on you," he muttered sullenly, "so try not to kill yourself or anything, cuz I signed all these papers sayin' I'm responsible for you 'n shit, so... if you die I go to jail."

No reaction. Heero just sat there, staring at the street. He was still holding the blanket tightly against him.

Duo fought down a frustrated sigh. He felt that he should probably say something, _anything_ , but for once in his life he was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to say to make Heero ask him to stay.

"Right then," he grunted and closed the door, slamming it loudly. Heero flinched, shrinking into himself. He watched Duo walk down the busy street, hailing a cab. He lowered his gaze down sadly, gawking at the pack of Skittles in his hands through a blur of tears. He blinked them out of his eyes and they dropped onto the colorful candy pack. He looked up again, but Duo was gone. Just like Brussels.

*     *     *

Standing with the blue blanket dangling from his slim shoulders, Heero held his keys between the only two working fingers on his right hand and tried to guide the key steadily into the lock. He was sweating profusely – another infuriating withdrawal symptom – and the key kept slipping between his unsteady moist fingers. His hand tremored badly, but after a few attempts he managed to get it right. He clutched the blanket close so it won't slip off and stepped warily into the small apartment. The door closed behind him on its own momentum.

The living room was dark. Dim stripes of afternoon sunshine filtered in through closed blinds obscuring the large living room window. They fell on various surfaces, revealing weeks' old layers of dust. A thick sheet of it covered the dark hardwood floor, on which two sets of footsteps could be made out – one male, one female. Heero stared at the footprints dully, feeling nothing.

The place was a mess. A pillow and a blanket were left in a messy heap on the couch; he vaguely remembered leaving them there. _That_ blanket was _his_. He walked towards the sofa, shedding the blue hospital blanket to the floor on the way. He picked up the one from the couch and flung it around his shoulders, wrapping it tightly around his chest. That felt so much better.

He turned to stare at the coffee table. Two coffee mugs and plates have been left on the small table. The stench of rotting food was in the air; scrambled eggs by the look of it – those were _not_ his. A bottle of Jameson whiskey lay discarded on the floor by the sofa, empty but surrounded by a large stain blemishing the hardwood floor.

Holding the blanket fastened over his chest, Heero walked slowly towards the bedroom, wandering like a ghost, a stranger, through his own apartment. His bedroom was even worse off than the living room. The bed sheets were all messy, tangled and falling off the bed. The room reeked of alcohol, cigarettes and sex. He spotted his Preventer jacket on the floor and stared at it dully. It wasn't hard to tell what had taken place in his room, but he was too numb to feel the anger their betrayal entailed.

His room used to be his sanctuary, a place of refuge at the end of the day. He had put over two salaries into it, choosing nothing but the most luxurious of comforts: from the frame and headboard, to the mattress, cushions, blankets and linens... He had built himself a cozy little nest. His bed was the only fixture in his apartment to have been given so much consideration. It was the most comfortable, comforting, place he knew. Now it has been violated as well. Everything was tainted beyond repair.

He turned away, heading towards the kitchen.

There were two empty coffee mugs on the kitchen table, as well as two glasses of water stained with whiskey leftovers at the bottom and an empty bottle of Jameson there as well, next to a plate full of cheesecake crumbs. It looked like somebody had a party in his own house but neglected to invite him, probably because he was preoccupied with being tortured at the time. Usually that would hurt, but he didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered.

He sighed and turned away from the table, facing the worktop. He reached a hand into his – _Duo's_ – jeans' pocket and pulled out the pack of Skittles from the hospital. He walked over to the small Skittles drawer; it was ajar. He threw the Skittles inside. He then spotted a pack of his cigarettes by the sink, right next to a single prescription bottle, and stopped.

In a sudden streak of resolve, he opened the cabinet door under the sink, where the trash can was stored. He swiped the pill bottle off the counter and threw it to the bin. He snatched the cigarette box next, flipping it open. The blanket slipped off his shoulders since he was moving too much. He froze, panicking, and hurried to pull it back up. He spotted the burnt cigarette butt in the sink, black ashes staining the smooth white porcelain surface. This was not his smoke.

He stared at it for a long while before snapping the cigarette box shut. _No more_ , he decided, and threw it to the bin as well, He slammed the cabinet door shut and secured the blanket around his shoulders again. He snatched the Skittles back from the drawer and plopped down tiredly to the floor, holding the blanket close.

He sat leaning against the closed cabinet under the sink and struggled to yank the pack open with four fingers, two on each hand. It crunched loudly until it finally tore. A few candies fell to the floor, rolling noisily around the kitchen, scrapping against the hardwood floor. He shook a few more into the palm of his hand and stared at them drearily: one red, one yellow, one green and one purple. He shoved them into his mouth, tilting his head back against the cabinet, and chewed on them gracelessly, obnoxious just for the heck of it. It was a small and insignificant way to show his dismay of the world, but it was all he could muster.

"I went 'bout it all wrong," he suddenly heard Duo's voice and nearly choked on a Skittle. He coughed and leveled his head down again to look at the kitchen doorway. Duo was standing there, holding his duffle bag and looking flustered. He must have entered the apartment while he'd been struggling with the noisy Skittles pack, so he didn't hear him.

"What I shoulda said was that I ain' leaving," Duo continued, breathless, and threw his bag onto the floor. "See, since you ain't talkin' no more, there's nuthin' you can say to stop me, right?" he said, smirking, and walked into the kitchen. He settled down on the floor next to Heero. The young man inched away, pulling the blanket up to his neck for it had slipped off his shoulder.

"I figure that why you didn't stop me when I walked away," he said, smiling sadly. "I was being an ass again, like I was in Brussels. Fucking stupid. Took me two blocks to figure it out. Better late than never, right?" he chuckled nervously. Heero stared at him, stupefied.

"Right," Duo let out with a small sigh, straining to smile. Heero's tense silence was making him even more nervous if at all possible.

"So here I am," he mumbled and lowered his gaze, having nothing more to say. Heero bowed his head down as well, staring at the pack of Skittles in his broken hand. They sat side by side, separated by a wide chasm of stretching silence.

Duo studied the mess Relena and he had left on Heero's kitchen table. How incredibly insensitive of them leaving this mess for Heero to clean up! He should have stopped by to do some cleaning before he got Heero out of the hospital, but he was so anxious to get Heero out of there before the damn doctors made things worse...

He sighed, bowing his head down shamefully. He fumbled nervously with his fingers, staring at them until words finally managed to come out:

"I slept with her," he said, grimacing guiltily. "On your bed..." he added, glimpsing carefully up at Heero. The young man was still staring at the pack of Skittles in his hands.

"We were... we were really drunk," Duo added quietly, feeling like a piece of shit. He studied Heero's face cautiously, but it remained completely blank. He was sure he'd get at least _something_ for his confession, but there was no reaction; none that he could see. He always had a hard time reading Heero, but now it was downright impossible. The young man's expression was completely barren, his eyes empty. There was no telling what went on inside.

"We were both thinking 'bout you while we were at it," Duo continued making his confession nonetheless. He had to get it off his chest, to put all the cards on the table from the very beginning. It was the only way this would ever work.

He smiled sadly. "Sick, huh?"

The Skittles packet rustled quietly as Heero shifted it between broken fingers. He was staring at it with hurt, miserable, eyes.

"Yeah, I know," Duo sighed ruefully, answering his own rhetorical question. "We regretted it the second it was over," he said as earnestly as he possibly could, observing Heero closely. "Are you mad? No? Good." He smiled at his own stupid joke. "This not talkin' thing is kinda working in my favor here, huh?"

Heero shook a colorful Skittle out of the pack, a green one, and stared at it dully. Duo's smile faded. He cast his gaze down, sighing.

"She didn't leave cuz she wanted to," he mumbled after a while. "She really loves you, yanno? I never realized just how much. She just... well... I dunno," he shrugged helplessly, "She thinks she's doing the right thing... giving us a chance, I guess." He looked up again, his eyes seeking Heero's face. The young man's head was bowed and he was still gawking at the green candy in his hand.

"So I'm not leaving," Duo stated; "Not this time. Not even if you beg me to, which would require you talkin' by the way," he finished with a wily smile.

No reaction, none.

"Nothing? Really? Good! Then that settles it," Duo muttered jokingly and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the cabinet. "I ain't leaving 'til you tell me to," he proclaimed confidently, nodding his head curtly to assert his own words. He turned to Heero, studying the silent young man with humble blue eyes; he was still staring down at the Skittle in his hands. Duo sighed, dropping the pompous act.

"I'm just kidding," he added softly; "It's entirely up to you. I'll accept whatever you decide... really."

The Skittles pack rustled again as Heero shook more candy out. A red Skittle joined its green predecessor in Heero's hand. Heero gawked at the two Skittles stoically. He picked the red one up with two careful fingers and brought it slowly up to his face, studying it closely as if it was some sort of world-wonder. Duo watched, feeling helpless. He leaned back against the cabinet, sighing, and titled his head up, gazing wretchedly at the ceiling. He listened to the Skittles bag crackle every now and then as Heero continued eating candy in silence.

"So the docs say I gotta get you talkin' by February or it's back to the loony bin for you," he finally said, breaking the heavy silence. He turned to look at Heero, his eyes falling on the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. He wondered why Heero needed it so bad.

"I figure it's doable," he continued. "I mean, I've beat lousier odds. Plus," he smirked teasingly, "I could be breaking a personal record, yanno?"

He looked at Heero quietly for a second, hoping for some kind of a reaction to his deliberately tactless joke, but there was none. Heero was staring at three colorful Skittles in his hand: one red, one yellow and one green. He picked the red one again and ate it. Duo could not even begin to fathom what kind of weird game of chance he was playing. He watched Heero continue whatever he was doing, pouring more Skittles into his hand: one purple, one orange and another green one. No red. He studied them for a moment before shaking three more out of the pack: one yellow, one green and one red. He picked the red one up with two splinted fingers while holding the Skittles pack between the non-broken ones, and ate it as well. Then he shook three more out of the bag: one orange, one purple and one yellow. Duo watched him continue this strange game, a pile of colorful Skittles forming in the palm of his hand, until he found a red one again, and ate it.

Duo sighed, slumping against the kitchen cabinet once more, and stared ahead with a wretched expression. This docile, beaten and broken person sitting next to him was not the same boy he had enjoyed coaxing into talking all those years ago. He was so quiet. It was a different kind of quiet; a sad, lonely one. His old tricks to entice Heero into talking probably won't work this time. Heero wasn't being a prick like he was back then. He was... wounded, so terribly wounded... and Duo didn't know what to say to make it better.

He wished he could go back to being that careless boy, the one who talked endlessly without really saying anything; the boy who didn't care what he said or if anyone was listening, just as long as he was heard. His words could have been stupid, tactless, insulting, ignorant and harmful. It didn't matter... they were just words. Nothing he said ever meant anything; he never put enough thought behind his words to make them matter. He just talked so he wouldn't have to think, so he could distract himself and everyone around him from all the _shit_ they had to deal with on daily basis.

He had grown much quieter over the years. Words ceased to matter altogether. No one was listening. Now all of a sudden his words were _crucial_. They were the only salvation he could think of, for both Heero and himself. He had to say the right thing in order to remedy years of silence and/or empty words. People weren't mind-readers; his words had to be _precise_ , genuine. They had to really _mean_ something this time, bridging gaps and overcoming misconceptions. The next words out of his mouth were to be his penance; he _had_ to get it right.

Duo chuckled bitterly, amused by the irony. He turned to Heero again, smiling wistfully.

"You know what the first thing you ever said to me was?" he asked, watching Heero's face closely. The young man was still playing with the Skittles.

"You told me to shut da Hell up," Duo answered his own question, knowing he wouldn't get a reply. "To keep it down a little or sumthin' cuz I was talking your _ears off_ while you were working on Wing... remember that?" he asked, smiling, "Took you _three days_ to come up with _that_ pearl of wisdom. I fucking _shoot_ you, rescue you, and patch you up, offer to help out fixing your suit 'n all that jazz, but not even a _peep_ outta you. I was beginning to think you're a damn _mute!_ _Three_ _days_ and not _one_ word, then you tell me to shut my trap – classic you. So I'm not worried here, yanno? Not one bit. You'll get talkin'... if only to tell me to keep it down again..."

He finished with a tense chuckle, looking expectantly at Heero, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment. But Heero remained still, seated with his head bowed down, staring at the Skittles. He picked up another Skittle from the pile in his hand, a purple one, and carefully returned it into the packet. He picked a green one next and dropped it back into the bag as well. After exhausting his supply of red Skittles, he returned the rest into the bag one by one.

"I useta nag you all the time with my endless chatter," Duo kept talking. He wasn't sure what he was trying to say, or if Heero was even listening, but he had to keep talking. He figured that if he just let words out, something meaningful will come out eventually.

"Just kept talkin' 'n talkin'... shooting in the dark... hoping not all of it will miss your heart. Maybe I'll hit the mark sometimes, yanno? Get you talkin' back. Remember how I useta bug you with that question all the time?" he asked with a helpless giggle, shaking his head in self-reprimand. "I kept _naggin'_ you to tell me why you wanted me so bad... but I never tried to answer my own God damn question."

Heero still had a few Skittles in his hand, but he stopped his efforts to return them to the bag and looked up at Duo. Apprehension shone quietly in his glassy blue eyes. His body tensed readily, as though preparing to take a punch to the face. He studied Duo quietly, waiting for him to keep talking. Duo smiled softly, to signal that he had nothing to fear.

"So to answer my own dumb question," he said, chuckling nervously, "Well... I... I wanted to be with you because... well... because I thought... I _still_ think... that you're the most beautiful thing in the whole fuckin' world. And I mean on the inside, yeah? The outside too... fuck yeah, but I... but I'm talkin' 'bout the inside now."

He paused for a moment, simply gazing into Heero's stunned blue eyes. He was getting through to him. Somehow, that made the rest of what he was going to say all more difficult to articulate.

"I uh...  I grew up with a lotta ugly, yanno?" he mumbled, glancing down uncomfortably. "I know _all_ about ugly... and what it does to people, but it didn't do it to you." He looked up again, meeting Heero's eyes. He smiled sadly. "Don't get me wrong," he said, "there's ugly in you too, just like there's ugly in me, but... but there's still so much more beauty in you... despite all the shit. I was drawn to it, I guess," he shrugged his shoulders offhandedly; "A moth to a flame, they say? Yeah, that it. I saw this light and I just couldn't look away even though it might kill me. And when you fucked me that light shone so fucking bright... so bright that I could finally see you through all the darkness and I... I loved it. I loved what I saw. That why I couldn't get 'nough of you, see?"

He smiled softly and reached for Heero's hand, placing his palm over Heero's limp hand, covering the Skittles. He was sweating so bad, nervous, that he was sure the colorful candy was staining the palm of his hand, but he held on even tighter, squeezing Heero's hand and never breaking eye contact. He held Heero's gaze with his own, trying to convey the importance of what he was struggling to say.

"You make the world seem like a better place... at least for me. You did some horrible shit... and I know you've been through even worse, but still you... you can still put beauty in all the ugly. You _did_ make the world a better place. You fought for it. You gave people things they hardly deserve and don't even appreciate and you did it not because anyone told you to, but because you believed in what you were doing. You sacrificed yourself for other people's sins. You took on all the bad, absorbing so much evil, and you came out intact. Wounded, but intact. And still beautiful... still compassionate, still capable of _so much_ love...

"It didn't make you weak, it didn't make you uglier. It only made you stronger. You hurt more, I'm sure, but you are so much more beautiful now. I still love what I see... maybe more than ever before and... and I... Well... It just feels like... It feels like I can purify all the sins that I committed in life if I just stay with you. You make me better too, see?" he smiled helplessly; "Heh... it sounded _way_ less selfish in my own head," he laughed quietly. "I didn't mean it that way. All the damn talkin' that keeps pouring outta me you'd think I'd know how to say things right, but I don't. So just bottom line before I mess this up even more, okay?"

Heero gave no response, just kept looking at Duo intently.

"Right," Duo let out, stalling. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself, and released the air with a long sigh. He cleared his throat and leveled his gaze back on Heero's.

"So bottom line is that I love you. It's as simple as that. I love you for every single thing you've ever done, for every awful thing you've been through and still came out on the other side. I loved you back then, and I love you even more now. Not because I feel bad for you, I do, but that ain't it. I love you more because I can... I couldn't back then, I think. I don't think you could either. We had to learn... the hard way, like always.

"And I think you feel the same way too. I think you tried to call me after you called _her_ because you feel the same way. And that you didn't leave a message like you did for _her_ because you would rather say those words to my face, or not at all. Saying them because that fuck told you to woulda tainted them somehow... so you kept quiet. And you're quiet now because you feel that you should keep at least this one thing to yourself. This _one_ thing that will always be yours. I get that. I get a lotta things I didn't get back then. And you know what? It's cool. You don't have to say it. You don't have to say _anything_. God knows I can do the talking for both of us, but there's still one thing I _do_ need you to say, because I dropped everything and left a life behind to be with you and I... I just need to know one thing to make sure it's okay. Just _one_ thing, okay? One thing and I'm off your back for good."

He paused and licked his lips nervously, looking anxiously into Heero's eyes. Heero stared back blankly. Duo was still holding his hand.

"I need you to tell me to stay," Duo said simply. "I need to know I ain't pushing you into anything just because you can't say 'no'. I could never live with myself if I force things on you like others did. I don't want to be that guy. I won't force myself on you... ever. Not _ever_ , okay? So just... just this one small thing, Heero, please... Can I stay?" He asked and then let go of Heero's hand.

Silence fell again. Heero studied him quietly. Duo held his breath. His mind was reeling after a heartfelt monologue. His heart hammered loudly in his chest. This was his end game move, the only move he had left. The ball was in Heero's court now. He waited to see what he would do.

After holding Duo's gaze for a tense moment, Heero bowed his head down to stare at the Skittles again. There were five Skittles left in his hand, the same sweaty palm Duo had held a moment ago. The warmth of their shared body heat had melted the Skittles' colorful crust. His hand was stained with fuzzy circles of yellow, orange, green and purple. He turned to look at Duo, hesitating, and slowly raised his hand up, offering him what was left of the melted Skittles. Duo gaped at them, puzzled, and then smiled gently. They weren't much to look at anymore, but he knew that they were still good.

"Okay then," he said and offered his open hand up. "That'll do," he said, smiling, as Heero poured melted Skittles into his open hand. Heero shook a few more candies out of the bag and the two sat together on the kitchen floor, sharing what was left of the Skittles.

*     *     *

 

[i] Evidence Control Unit 


	17. APB

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

"Jingle Bell Rock" played quietly on an old jukebox in a dark and shady establishment. The small pub was rather empty; its booths stood bare, yet a few lonesome customers sat brooding at the bar. A bright purple neon sign hung above the abundant display of liquor bottles behind the counter, flashing the name: Eliot's.

A young brunette sat at the far end of the polished counter, slowly sipping a colorful cocktail through a straw. She was a lovely looking woman, dressed plainly enough as to not attract too much unwanted attention to herself, yet the blouse she wore under her trendy jacket was sufficiently tight and her cleavage just provocative enough to catch someone's eye if she so pleased. Her deep brown eyes were fixed on a handsome young man sitting at the other side of the long bar. She has been watching him all night.

She estimated him to be in his mid-twenties. He sat quietly, staring bleakly at his drink, keeping to himself. His hair was a rich shade of dark brown, cut short yet unkempt at the front; his bangs were arranged in tantalizing heap as though to entice her fingers to touch it.

There was an air of desolation about him; dark, brooding and so heartbreakingly alluring. His handsome face was set in a blank, unreadable expression: hard and cold... except for his eyes. There was a distant, forlorn look in his sad blue eyes. He sat hunched over the bar, sipping a glass of whiskey on the rocks and staring endlessly at his phone, lost in a world of pain. She has been watching him for hours, fascinated by a tragic mystery waiting to be unraveled.

She licked her lips slowly, hungrily, her eyes running up and down his figure. He was very well-built. She could tell even through the casual long-sleeved shirt he was wearing. It was a slim fit that left little to the imagination; the fabric stretching over his muscular arms and chest. She had watched him walk to the restroom about an hour ago. The sight of his retreating backside in dark blue jeans was far from disappointing.

He had been sitting alone all evening, just drinking quietly, never attracting any attention to himself. For the last half hour or so he had been looking at his smartphone. At first she had thought he was texting, but after a while she figured that he must be looking at something, reading perhaps, maybe surfing the net, because his fingers weren't typing anything. Whatever he was doing, he was deeply engrossed in it, never tearing his gaze from the phone, even while reaching for his drink. He only looked up when he signaled the bartender for another round, gesturing with his empty glass. He never said a word.

She had futilely tried gaining his attention a few times during the night, attempting to catch his eyes in the seldom moments when he finally looked up from the bar. He never spared her a glance. He wasn't looking for company, but then again, why would he be here instead of drinking alone at home? Only the sad and lonely were out tonight, Christmas Eve 205.

She finished her drink quickly, gulping down the rest of it without the straw, grabbed her purse from the bar and stood up. She opened her jacket widely, flipping it back to reveal her impressive rack. She pushed her long hair back, picked up her empty cocktail glass and marched determinedly towards the solemn young man. She placed her empty glass in front of him while climbing up on the bar stool next to his, smiling artfully.

"What does a girl have to do to make you buy her a drink already?" she asked in a low droning voice as she leaned one elbow on the counter, looking at him thoroughly. Sitting close to him now, she could see that his left cheek was bruised; a large purple stain telling the story of a punch he had taken to the face by a right-handed opponent. She hadn't been able to see it under the dim illumination from all the way across the bar. From afar he seemed perfect, but from up close he was... flawed. She liked them that way.

Glancing down at his hands, she noted that his knuckles were bruised as well, suggesting that he had taken an active part in the fight. A few of his fingers were crooked; they've been broken once. Faint, white and hairline-thin scars peeked under the cuffs of his plain cotton shirt. It reminded her of self-inflicted knifing; she was intrigued. He caught her looking and pulled the sleeves down forcefully, hiding them. Her gaze traveled upwards. She noted another scar sneaking under the tip of his V-shaped collar, running down his clothed chest. _A bad boy_ ; she smirked, pleased.

The young man continued looking at his phone, ignoring her still. She glanced at it briefly and her eyes caught a glimpse of a photo. He was viewing the picture gallery, browsing through a set of pictures – all of them of a small blonde girl with rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes.

She gave him a wily smile and leaned towards him slightly, invading his personal space even further. He reclined back a little. It was a subtle movement, but she picked up on it nonetheless. A shy guy – sweet.

"Let me guess," she opened slyly, slurring for she was a bit tipsy. "The Ex refused to let you have your baby-girl over on Christmas, so you're sitting here, brooding, torturing yourself with her pictures?"

The young man purposely ignored her and flipped the phone over to hide the screen. He reached for his drink and sipped it quietly, looking ahead at the bar.

"You married young – your high school sweetheart," she continued her little guessing game, smirking, "had a kid by the time you were twenty and it didn't take long for both of you to realize that you made the biggest fucking mistake of your lives, right?" she laughed at her own assumption. "So you moved to the city and she's been a cold-hearted _bitch_ ever since. How's that?"

He finished his drink quietly and placed it back on the counter. He signaled the bartender for another round by pointing at his empty glass. He still hasn't turned to face her.

"Or I could be way off," she tried again, shrugging carelessly. The guy was so _intense!_

"For all I know you could be a sick pedophile getting off from gawking at pictures of innocent little girls..." she teased and this time he finally turned to her, glaring angrily. She smiled in apology.

"But something tells me that it's not the case," she added softly. He scoffed silently, dismissing her presumptuous remark, and reached into his jeans to pull out a pack of cigarettes – Winston Blue. He flipped it open with his crooked fingers and fished out a smoke.

"Hey man, no smoking in here," the barman said as he approached with the young man's order, holding a bottle of Jameson, and the young man looked up at him, scowling.

"Since when?" he asked in low raspy voice, barely above a whisper, but still intimidating in a creepy way. The young woman felt a small tremor run down her back. She wriggled her hips a little on the seat, feeling a pleasant tingling. There was something undeniably pleasing about his husky voice.

The barkeep shrugged to indicate that he doesn't know nor care. He poured the young man his drink and walked away.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" she commented dryly, smiling at her reluctant companion. "It's hard to find a good place that doesn't ban smoking anymore. This was a last haven, you know?" she said and pulled a lighter out of her deep cleavage. She waved it up and down in his face, smiling seductively. "Join me outside?"

He turned to look at her and she strained to keep a straight face under his fierce blue gaze. He studied her quietly, scanning her up and down, his gaze lingering on her bountiful cleavage long enough to let her know that he wasn't truly made of stone as he appeared to be.

He stood up without a word and shoved his phone into his jeans pocket. He grabbed a plain brown leather jacket from the back of his bar stool, dug a crumpled old fifty-dollar bill out of its pocket, threw it on the bar and then walked to the door, slipping into the jacket as he went. Confused, she remained seated for a moment until she saw him stop at the door, holding it open. He turned to look at her, his intense blue eyes seeking her from across the small bar. She smiled and hopped off the chair, hurrying after him.

They stepped outside into the cold snowy night and he offered her a cigarette. She accepted it with a slutty grin and lit up her own smoke while watching him pull another cigarette out of the box and throw it expertly to his mouth, catching it between his lips and letting it dangle in his mouth. Once again her eyes noted the bruise on his cheek. She lit his smoke for him, leaning into his personal space once more, pressing her breasts to his firm torso to enjoy his intense heat in the cold night air. This time he didn't flinch away.

They stood under a bright purple neon sign flashing _Eliot's_ and smoked quietly. She studied his bland face carefully, looking up for he was a bit taller. He was looking out at the other side of the street, his eyes gazing numbly at a dark alleyway across the road. She turned to watch the alley for a moment too, trying to see what was so interesting about it, but no one was there.

"Come here often?" she asked, trying to make conversation. He just kept staring at the alley as though expecting someone to come out of the shadows.

"Not really," he murmured after a while, never tearing his gaze away from the alley. He took a drag on his smoke and released it slowly, sighing. "Been a while," he added solemnly.

"Yeah? Well, this place ain't what it used to be anyway," she muttered and took a puff on her own smoke. "I just come here outta habit, I guess," she added and studied his bruised face; the bruising was much more prominent under the electric purple light coming from above.

"You look like you've been to a _bar fight_ or something... Got kicked out of your usual place?" she ventured a guess. "Some Christmas, huh?"

The young man ignored her and continued smoking quietly, his eyes still fixed on the alley on the other side of the dark and narrow side-street.

"Don't talk much, do you?" she mumbled with a sigh and slumped against the building wall. "Yeah, I know the type..." she muttered, taking a puff on her smoke; "been there, done that... got the restraining order..." she finished with a small bitter laugh and turned to look at him again, smiling at her own sarcastic joke. Her smile slowly faded when faced with his eerie stoicism. She glanced towards the alleyway again, wondering what was so damn fascinating about it!

"I live right across the street," she said carefully, studying his face for a reaction. He turned to her, scowling darkly. His intense glare was making her nervous. He was running his eyes over her again, assessing what she had to offer. His fierce blue eyes traveled from her breasts down to her hips; he was checking out her ass, an asset she was quite proud of actually. She made a subtle shift to the side, just enough to offer him a view of her voluptuous booty. Her intentions did not escape him. He was eyeing her like a hawk fixing in on its prey. She chuckled agitatedly, hoping she wasn't getting herself into something more than she could handle.

"In case you're interested..." she added, hesitating; "Christmas's a shitty time to be lonely, right?"

He turned back to look at the alley and raised his smoke back up. "Yeah," he agreed quietly while staring at it pensively. He finished his cigarette, taking his time, and then threw the burnt butt to the floor, squashing it with his foot. He turned to her, eyes fiery with resolve. Fuck, he was sexy!

"Let's go," he rasped silently but sternly and turned towards the main road up ahead. She smiled, pleased that she has finally managed to reel him in. She followed him out of the narrow side-street towards the main road up ahead. He walked briskly and she had to quicken her pace to catch up with him, wobbling on a pair of high heels.

"It's right over there," she huffed, gesturing with her head towards a large building up ahead, over by the main road.

A car turned wildly into the small street, tires screeching. It sped towards them, engine roaring, and then swerved onto the pavement, coming to an abrupt stop a few feet away, blocking their path. She stopped dead in her tracks, gasping, and gaped at vehicle in shock. It was an NYPD squad car.

Her company for the night wasn't deterred by the sudden intrusion. He stood two steps ahead of her, staring calmly at the police car blocking his path.

The driver's door opened and out came an officer,wearing dark-blue uniform complete with an NYPD duty jacket and hat. He secured his holster, twisting it around his waist, and marched towards them, looking pissed. He was a handsome young man; his hair a light chestnut brown, cut to medium-length with short bangs peeking under his police hat, and his eyes a fiery cobalt blue burning with silent rage. She could see the angry gleam even in the darkness of the night. He was glaring at them furiously as he approached, as menacing as death.

She took a step back, alarmed, and gaped at the young man she had planned on taking home with her tonight.

"Jesus... you're not some _psycho_ , are you?" she whispered nervously. The young man ignored her. The cop was glaring at her menacingly as he finished his approach and turned to her companion.

"Get in the car, Heero," he growled as he halted in front of her chance-date; "Don't make me _book_ ya."

The young man – Heero, apparently – scoffed insolently, dismissing the threat. "On what fucking _charges?_ " he asked nastily, raising his chin in spite.

"Assaulting an officer comes to mind," the young cop muttered, rubbing his left cheek, which was bruised much like Heero's, she noted. She gaped at the two, stupefied.

"What the Hell is going on?!" she demanded and turned to Heero. "You got in trouble with the law or something? What the fuck did you do at that bar?!"

"Back off, _sister_ ," the cop hissed dangerously, glowering at her from behind the young man's shoulder. "You're done for the night."

"Hey – I'm not some fucking _hoe!_ I have my rights!"

" _Scram_ ," the officer warned, already shifting his glare towards the young man standing directly in front of him, looking tense. "This here ain't none of your damn business," he stated while holding Heero's fierce gaze with a vicious glare of his own. "C'mon, get outta here – scoot, _bitch!_ "

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and went back into the bar muttering a frustrated "I don't need this shit..." under her breath.

"Lovely broad," Duo commented cynically as he turned back to Heero. "One of your better choices, I gotta say."

"Don't worry, you can have a go at her after I'm done," Heero smirked spitefully, "You're good at that, aren't you?"

"Oh, we're back to _that_ now?!" Duo exclaimed, waving his hands up animatedly. "We said we're sorry like a _billion_ times – get over it!"

"No – _you_ get over it! I'll fuck whoever I _fucking_ want!"

"Oh _sure!_ " Duo laughed cynically. "Sure you will! I bet the broad woulda been _real_ understanding when she saw you can't get your _junk_ working. Oh sure... she woulda listened to your _sob story_ and you woulda told her all about how coming off the SSRIs damaged your goods so it ain't your fault, and how you've been through so much shit that even when you finally _could_ do it, you still couldn't... _sure_! She woulda gotten that, right? Woulda been _real_ _sweet_ 'bout it too, telling you it's okay if she doesn't get laid tonight, that you're still her man 'n all that _bullshit_. Real supportive, I'm sure. Unlike the guy who stuck with you through all that shit, told you he was cool about it... The guy who waited for you a whole damn _year_ and then when shit hit the fan you ran off to some _WOMAN!_ "

"Ch!" Heero snorted coldly and turned on his heels, ready to head back to the bar. Duo grabbed him firmly by his arm, stopping him. Heero whirled around, glaring wrathfully.

" _Don't touch me!_ " He hissed and yanked his arm out of Duo's grasp. He moved swiftly, too fast for Duo's eyes to see, but less than a second later he could feel Heero's hand on his holster, intended on apprehending his weapon. Heero froze, shocked to find out that Duo wasn't carrying one.

Duo smirked smugly, looking Heero in the eye with a haughty gleam in his dark blue eyes. "Didn't think I'd be stupid enough to approach you with a weapon, didja?" he snarled nastily, his hand sneaking towards Heero's, who was still gripping him by the empty holster around his hips. The moment he touched him, Heero flinched back violently.

"Don't fucking touch me!" he shouted and pushed Duo back with both arms. He whirled around and stomped towards the bar.

"Heero – get back here!" Duo yelled and ran after him, grabbing him by his arm again. In a flash Heero had Duo pinned up against the building, holding the young cop's face pressed into the cold brick wall and clutching his neck in a dangerous chokehold. He held Duo's free arm twisted behind his back in a death grip.

"Don't touch me!" he roared into Duo's ear, his eyes wild, and yanked Duo's arm back forcefully, slamming him repeatedly against the wall. "Don't _ever_ touch me!"

Duo's police hat fell to the pavement, rolling to the road. Pressed against the wall, he gurgled, choking. He wriggled in Heero's tight hold, trying to break free. But the young man was strong, leaning against him with all his weight, keeping him pinned to the wall. The arm clutched around his neck tightened, pulling back even more. Desperate to get away before he ran out of air, he lifted his leg up backwards, kicking Heero in the groin. The young man cringed back with a loud groan and let go. Duo stumbled away from the wall, coughing.

"Dammit, Heero..." he huffed breathlessly, leaning against his knees to catch his breath. He looked up at Heero sadly. "Don't do this... c'mon..." he pleaded, straightening up; "I said I was sorry, alright? Let's just go home," he asked, reaching a hand towards Heero. "We'll talk it out in the morning... when you're sober."

"I'm done talking," Heero grumbled angrily. "We're done here," he said and resumed walking, this time headed towards the main street. "We're _done!_ " he stressed ominously as he walked past Duo, punching the building wall. He headed out of the narrow side-street. Duo watched him leave, sighing.

"Here we go again..." he mumbled, shaking his head despairingly. He picked up his hat from a small ditch at the side of the road, dusted it off and walked back to the squad car, plopping into the driver's seat. By the time he was seated behind the wheel, Heero was already out of sight.

Duo opened the glove box. His gun was inside, along with a pack of Winston Blue. He snatched it and helped himself to a smoke. He needed time to cool off if he was to rectify the situation. Tonight was going to be a _long_ night. Like always, it was up to him to fix this, not because he was at fault – and he usually wasn't – but because Heero would never do it. That would require a substantial amount of mental strength, and Heero didn't possess any, tonight of all nights.

He sat in the car, smoking while gazing out at the busy road up ahead. Even drunk, Heero could still cover a lot of ground by foot and the city was a great place to hide if you didn't wish to be found. It was easy to get lost, disappear, and make sure no one would find you. Heero was a God damn expert.

Duo finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the car ashtray. He reached for the two-way-radio transceiver and lifted the talk-in piece to his mouth. He sighed and pressed the button on the side, speaking into the small device.

"Centre, 223, 10-69."

There was a pause, a silent crackle and then a female voice replied: "223, Centre, go ahead."

"I need you to put out my usual APB. I'm on 433 E Sixth Street."

"10-4 23. Bad night?"

"Affirmative."

"10-4," the dispatcher acknowledge. A moment later her voice came on the radio: "Centre calling all units in the East Village area. We have an APB out on a twenty-five-year-old male, brown hair, blue eyes, slightly Asian façade. Approximately five foot eleven, one seventy pounds. Last seen on 433 E Sixth Street. Possibly a 10-50. Subject is dangerous when intoxicated, be advised."

"223 from 222," a male voice came on the radio. "I'll come up from A Avenue, see what we got."

"10-4 22," Duo replied thankfully.

"223 from 221," another officer came on the radio; "I'm just coming up First. We'll flank him and get him home by breakfast."

Duo smiled faintly, touched by the strong sense of camaraderie they shared. He never had that on L2. The guys here were different, they understood. He didn't have to explain anything because they knew; they all knew Heero was the Redeemer's last victim and maybe that was why they helped out in every way they could. They didn't do it out of obligation or anything like that. They did it because they cared, because that was what the guys on The Job did for each other down here. Heero was ex-Preventer and that still counted for something.

"10-4, 21," Duo said into the two-way radio. "I owe you one."

"Nothing to it," the other officer replied; "make it up to me next time my damn sixteen-year-old runs off and we're even."

Duo smile faintly and raised the radio back up. "10-4, Mike. It's a deal."

*     *     *

They searched around the block, and the two adjacent blocks, but came up empty. Heero knew better than to stay in plain sight. This was not the first APB that was put out to find him. He was used to avoiding NYPD patrol cars; he's been doing it for nearly a year now. This wasn't the first time he ran off after a fight and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He couldn't cope, so he bolted. Duo was used to it by now. Usually he wouldn't have worried so much, but tonight was different. Tonight was Christmas; the first Christmas since Heero was taken. It was bound to get ugly.

At some point he found himself simply driving around, not even looking anymore. What was the point? Heero clearly didn't wish to be found. Hopefully, he will come out when he's ready; that's how things usually went down. It wasn't easy, but that was the life he had chosen for himself and he had no regrets. He bitched and moaned about it at times, but he had no regrets. He loved Heero and he had made the choice to remain by his side come what may. Heero tested him almost every day. The guy has certainly turned out to be the most frustrating, hardheaded, offensive and ill-tampered person he has _ever_ known. Granted, not all the time, but he did have his moments, like tonight.

He had considered the first few weeks to be the hardest, but in retrospect what came later was much worse. In those first few days after he had discharged Heero from the hospital, he had been very patient with him; so fucking patient, surprising even himself when he still managed to muster strength and perseverance in times of unbearable frustration. He couldn't surrender to frustration because he had a clearly defined mission to accomplish: he had to get Heero talking or else he'd be committed again, treated with the same device Sloan had used to torture him. That would have only made it worse. Duo couldn't let that happen.

For two whole days, all Heero did was lie on the floor by his bed, wrapped in that damn blanket. For some reason, he refused to lie on the bed even after Duo had changed the sheets and tidied the place up, erasing any evidence of Relena and his betrayal. Heero just lay there at the foot of the bed, curled into himself and clasping the blanket around his chest as he stared ahead at nothing.

He had tried to get Heero to eat something, he was so frighteningly thin, however Heero refused to eat. Duo had even ordered some takeout from that Chinese place he assumed Heero liked after finding that delivery menu in his work station at Preventer. It might have not been the healthiest choice after weeks of starvation, but he hoped it would get Heero eating again. It didn't.

He had placed the food on the floor in front of Heero and sat down next to him. The scent of fried chicken meatballs was mouthwatering, but Heero just stared at them numbly. He had opened a box of fried rice and offered it to Heero, holding it close to him in hope that the delicious aroma will entice him to eat. Heero had hesitated, but eventually reached a broken hand into the box and picked up a few grains of rice with his only two working fingers. He served them carefully to his mouth and chewed slowly, completely apathetic. He gave Heero some fried meatballs and Heero picked a small one, eating it reluctantly. A moment later, he heaved it all out, vomiting on the floor in a series of sick gurgles, spluttering puke all over his chin. He then lay in it, staring into thin air.

The only thing he could get Heero to eat were those damn Skittles! He had walked to his room carrying three packets in different colors, sat next to Heero with a stupid grin plastered on his face and asked which one he liked best. Heero had pointed at the green one so he had placed the packet on the floor next to him and watched him eat it slowly. It went on like that for days.

Since the man obviously couldn't survive solely on candy, Duo had made a deal with him – eat a little of this or that and get candy. So little by little Heero ate here and there, just so he could get the damn candy. Eventually, he had managed to feed the man a whole meal without having him vomit it later on. It was a God damn miracle.

A few days later, Heero even agreed to get into bed, although he didn't let go of the blanket yet, taking it with him. It reeked of sweat and vomit, but he wouldn't let it go. Duo tried to slip the blanket carefully from under him while Heero slept, just so he could throw it in the wash real quick, but the minute it was off Heero woke up, screaming and flinging his arms desperately to try and get the blanket back. Shocked, Duo panicked and threw the filthy blanket back on the bed. He gaped, stunned and mortified, as Heero gathered the dirty blanket swiftly into his hands, squashing it into a ball and hugging it tightly against his chest. He pushed himself to the other side of the bed, scuttling against the mattress and tangled sheets as he curled into himself and around the blanket, protecting it. His wide blue eyes were on Duo the whole time, watching him fearfully, afraid he might try to take the blanket away again. Duo couldn't move. He stood there with tears in his eyes, trying his best not to fall apart. It was days before Heero allowed Duo near him again.

Weeks went by. He was supposed to take Heero back to the hospital for a psych evaluation, but the man still hasn't said a word. They were going to commit him and Duo was beginning to think that maybe it would be for the best. He obviously wasn't doing Heero any good. All he did was make sure Heero won't kill himself, but he wasn't helping him make any real progress. He tried to explain to Heero time and time again that if he doesn't speak he will be admitted, but his words fell on deaf ears. Heero wasn't talking. Then came the day he had to take Heero back to the hospital.

It was early in the morning and Heero was taking a shower. Duo didn't trust him to shower alone, not after what happened at the hospital. He joined Heero inside the bathroom whenever the young man was willing to take a shower, sitting on the closed toilet seat while Heero undressed behind the shower curtain concealing the tub and then showered. Once done Heero would reach a wet hand out and Duo would hand him a towel. That day, however, Heero didn't reach a hand out after turning the water off.

Duo had been sitting on the closed toilet, gaping dully at the bathroom door, when suddenly his mind registered that the water had stopped running. He frowned, turning to look at the closed shower curtain to his right. There was no sound, no movement.

"Heero?" he had called his name out worriedly, standing up. "Are you okay?"

There was no answer and he was worried, so he opened the shower curtain, just a tad, and peeked inside. Heero stood inside the bathtub, leaning heavily against the wall, facing Duo's way; his nude form was slumped and curled inwards and he was hugging himself. Duo tried not to gawk at his frail and bony body or the red cuts all over his pale wet skin, but he couldn't help it; his eyes moved on their own, taking it all in, once again faced with the horror of what went on in that basement. He forced himself to look up and keep his eyes on Heero's face. The young man's head was bowed down. His dark hair was longer when wet, reaching below the nape of his neck. His long bangs were plastered flatly over his forehead, concealing his eyes, which were wide open, staring unseeingly at the wall he leaned against.

"Heero?" Duo had whispered softly once more, trying to gain his attention. "Do you need any help?" he asked and reached for the towel hanging next to him, handing it to Heero. Solemn blue eyes slowly shifted to look at the towel. Heero gaped at it numbly for a moment, before he reached a hesitant hand up. He took the large white towel and wrapped it over his shoulders, letting it hang down like a cape. He held it closed in front of his chest, clutching the fabric in his fist, and resumed staring unblinkingly at the wall.

Duo stood there, holding the shower curtain in his hand, feeling at a loss. Up until now Heero had functioned on automaton, preforming whatever task was necessary in order to get by: from brushing his teeth and shaving in the morning, to getting dressed, eating and taking his medication (he was still being weaned gradually off the SSRIs, taking a lower dosage each week), to showering and then finally getting to bed. He got through the day one step at a time, going from A to B until the day was finally over. Now, he suddenly stopped, like a wound-up clock that had to be reset. Duo didn't know what to make of it, what to do.

"Is this about the hospital?" he ventured an educated guess. He knew that Heero understood perfectly that he wasn't going to come back home with him today. Duo had made it very clear when he tried to coax Heero into talking the other night, but it didn't change a thing. Heero still wouldn't talk.

Duo sighed. "Get dressed," he said, "We haffta be there by ten," he mumbled and prepared to step out of the bathroom.

"Don't..." Heero suddenly whispered and Duo stopped, slowly turning around to face him again.

"Don't leave me..." Heero murmured sadly, huddling closer to the wall, shying away. There was so much heartbreak in his quiet, defeated, voice. It took Duo a moment to find his voice again. He stepped closer to the bathtub.

"I won't," he promised. "I won't leave you. But you gotta help me out here, Heero. You have to talk to me."

The faucet dripped silently. Outside, an airplane flew closely by, its engines roaring loudly.

"I did talk to you..." Heero then whispered ever so quietly.

Duo felt a painful pang in his chest and winced, closing his eyes sadly. "You talked to me?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"...all the time," Heero mumbled. He fell silent for a while and then added: "You weren't real."

Duo opened his eyes and turned to look at the closed shower curtain, a wretched expression on his face. Tears shone in his eyes.

"And now that I _am_ real you won't talk to me?"

"I can't..."

"Why not?" he asked softly, "because I might give a different reply than the 'me' in your head?"

Heero didn't reply, so Duo assumed he guessed correctly.

"Try me," he offered softly. "I might surprise you."

"You'll leave."

"I won't."

"She did." Heero stated miserably.

"I'm nothing like her and you know it," he said firmly and opened the shower curtain. Heero was still standing against the wall, holding the towel around him. He was looking numbly at the white porcelain wall ahead.

"I'm not going anywhere," Duo assured him. "Not this time… not unless you tell me to, but you gotta talk again, Heero. Not just to me, the doctors too. You gotta talk to them."

Heero bowed his head down slowly, clutching the towel closer against his chest. "...I have nothing left to say," he mumbled brokenly; "I gave him everything. I have... nothing. There's nothing left. Nothing..."

"You have me," Duo assured him almost automatically; "you'll always have me... for as long as you'll want me."

That concluded their conversation for the day. Duo waited a moment and when he gathered that there will be no reply, he settled back on the closed toilet seat. He sat there silently and waited until Heero was ready to come out of the tub.

He spoke to Heero's doctor and the man agreed to postpone the psych evaluation. Duo was determined to make the new deadline. But for some reason Heero was only willing to speak while they were in the shower. He never said a word outside that room. The shower was the only place where he felt comfortable naked, literally and figuratively. Duo would sit on the toilet while Heero stood behind the shower curtain, wrapped in a towel hanging over his shoulders, sharing what little he had been willing to share. He didn't say much, just little things, small words here and there that told volumes of the hurt he felt inside.

"She was just like me," he had said once, referring to his daughter. "Never loved enough... never cared for by her own parents... I would have loved her now,"he had concluded miserably.

All Duo could offer was reassurance and understanding. He didn't really have much more to give. There was nothing he could say, so he listened. He knew better than to try and push the issue; it never worked with Tomás, so why would it work with Heero? His experience with the boy's elective mutism came in real handy when dealing with Heero's silence. He just went with it, never making a big deal out of it, until the new deadline arrived.

As the day came once more to take Heero back to the hospital, Duo had made it _very_ clear to Heero that it was either talk to the damn doctors, or get admitted into psych against his will. He watched anxiously as the door closed behind Heero after he stepped into the therapy room and probably held his breath the whole time he was there. He didn't know if Heero said anything while inside. All he knew was that a committee of three God damn _shrinks_ evaluated Heero's mental health and submitted a report to Preventer. Two weeks later Heero was honorably discharged for early retirement, along with a generous psych pension that more or less set him up for life. He's been unemployed ever since, which left him with a lot of time to practice his self-destructive behavior. When Duo suggested that he'd get another job, Heero told him to go fuck himself. He was spiteful that way; hostile and disgruntled. Surprisingly, Heero had a real flair for trash-talk. It was always the quiet ones.

Duo on the other hand had to get some sort of income going and therefore joined the NYPD soon after Heero was deemed fit to remain without supervision. It was more or less a smooth transition to the NYPD, no academy training required, especially after submitting warm recommendations from his Department Chief on L2, a few high ranking directors at Preventer he just so happened to know personally, and even Chief Lopez from the MSC. He was starting from the bottom again and working his way up the ranks. He worked as a police officer at the 7th Precinct servicing the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It was a small precinct with a relatively low crime rate and he hoped to make 3rd grade detective soon and move on to something more interesting, getting his hands dirty again fighting _real_ crime.

He got a small place in an old but renovated brownstone building in Greenwich Village. The neighborhood was separated from the hustle and bustle of the city. It streets were lined with trees, large and beautiful brownstone buildings and smaller, more classic New-England-style homes. Living in the Village, Duo could escape from the rigors of life with a walk through Washington Square Park, lounging in a green haven he could never enjoy on L2. He appreciated the calm and refined vibe of the neighborhood and was rather content that he has chosen to make it his home.

Heero didn't like it. He said that the place was creeping with _snobs_ – stuck-up, uppity and _fussy_ , but Duo didn't mind. It was a nice neighborhood and he's had enough of living in rundown joints. The Village was a bit expensive, but he didn't need much space so he got by. The important thing was that it was close enough to Heero, but not too close. It was a delicate balance that had to be carefully maintained. Moving in seemed like a bit too much at this point. They weren't quite there yet... probably won't be for a long while and when the time would finally come Heero would probably want him to move out of the Village, so he enjoyed it while he could.

"223 from 225," a female voice crackled over the radio, tearing into his reminiscing. Duo reached for the talk-in piece and picked it up. "10-4, 25. Go ahead."

"Spotted a guy who fits your ABP on third," the female officer said; "Looks like he's been doing some shopping. Tried to engage but both he and the damn juggler split. Dunno if he managed to cut the deal. Lost him on Union Square."

Duo shook his head in disappoint and hissed a silent "damn" under his breath. He picked the radio up again. "10-4 25. Thanks for the info. I'm heading over there now."

"10-4 23. Good luck. Over and out."

Duo turned the car around, cussing.

*     *     *

There was, of course, no sign of Heero by the time he arrived at Union Sq. He had circled the area a few times, even scouted it by foot, but Heero had vanished without a trace. Disappointed, Duo got back to his squad car and drove off.

He wasn't supposed to be working on Christmas; rookies usually did, but he had requested some time off to be with Heero. He knew how bad it would get on Christmas. The writing has been on the wall for quite some time now. Heero has made much progress over the past year. He's been stable for months now, even without the SSRIs, and was slowly rebuilding himself from scratch. They were even talking about how he should look for another job, not because he needed the money, but so that he would have something to occupy him other than wallow in self-pity all day long. But as the holiday season approached and winter blanketed the city of New York with rain, sleet and snow, Heero suddenly regressed to his melancholic demeanor, shutting him out. His destructive behavior reemerged and he started doing things he hadn't done in months; smoking, for example. It was a habit he had kicked exactly a year ago. He just threw all of his cigarettes to the trash and never touched one since. Duo had quit with him, at least as far as Heero knew. He couldn't quite make it through the week without sneaking a few drags here and there.

He kept a box in his squad car and another in his locker back at the station. He did his best not to smoke at home, in case Heero dropped by and smelled the lingering scent of cigarette smoke in his apartment. He kept some cigarettes hidden in a soap box in the bathroom and whenever things got a bit too much he closed himself in there, opened up the window next to the toilet seat, sat down and had himself a smoke, gazing out at the city through the small hatch. He was hiding in his own damn apartment, but if Heero ever found out he'd have his neck so it was all he could think of to get by.

He felt bad for living a lie, hiding things from Heero, but smoking was one of very few strongholds of sanity he had left and it was hard giving it up completely. The second would be the medication he was finally willing to take to keep his Borderline Personality Disorder in check. It wasn't something he had entered into lightly; he only did it for Heero's sake. He had to keep the BPD under control or else he would be of no use to Heero, always surrendering to frustration and picking up a fight, making his already taxing relationship with the man even more difficult. The last thing he wanted was to add fuel to the fire, so... meds.

He only took the mood stabilizers his doctor prescribed, no therapy. Heero on the other hand has been seeing a shrink for nearly a year now. Relena had set it up so that Dr. Wright would fly over from DC once week in her private jet. Heero resented her attempts to help him from afar. He refused to meet with Wright, sending the man rudely on his way, but Duo convinced him to give it a shot. By some miracle, Heero listened to him. Wright met with Heero for an hour or two on a weekly basis and that seemed to work wonders for the young man. Heero declined any kind of psychiatric medication, so Duo figured that whatever Wright did for him had to include talking and that talking helped. It comforted him to know that Heero was finally talking to someone, that he was trying to put things behind him once and for all.

His third haven in the world would have to be St. Brigid's Roman Catholic Church in Alphabet City. It has more or less become his sanctuary over the past year. He started going there when he needed time to cool off or muster the strength he needed to take care of Heero while living with the man for a couple of months after his abduction. He continued attending the church even after moving to the Village, feeling no need to search for a new place of refuge because he was already comfortable there.

In its early years, over four centuries ago, St. Brigid's served as a haven for Irish immigrants fleeing to the US. And although later it became a stalwart presence for the ever-changing immigrant populations of the East Village neighborhood, it has always been a home to the local Irish community on the Lower East Side and for some reason that made Duo feel right at home, maybe because the parish reminded him so much of the life he had left behind on L2.

The church resided in a rather plain red-bricked building in the middle of a quiet residential street off of Avenue B, overlooking a small park. It wasn't much to look at, except maybe for the large glass-stained windows at the front and flanks of the building. In this late hour, Christmas Eve, they glowed brightly in the darkness of the night, welcoming any passersby into the fold.

Duo entered the church and took off his police hat. He crossed his heart and stepped inside, holding the hat under his armpit. He had missed Christmas Mass by a half hour. The service has ended a while ago. Not many parish members remained at the church and the last of them were leaving. Most were already home, getting ready for bed so they could greet Christmas Day in the morning with their children.

He settled heavily into one of the many empty pews and stared up at the altar. It was a humble church. Only a large Jesus on the Cross hung above the chancel. The pastor was busy speaking to someone by the altar. It didn't matter. In all the times he's been here, Duo hadn't spoken to the man once. He had his own private priest on speed-dial. He didn't think there were many Catholic priests out there who would be willing to listen to his endless bitching about his challenging relationship with another man.

He wouldn't exactly call what Heero and he had a _romantic_ relationship per-say. It was definitely more than friendship, a loving partnership of sorts, but there was hardly anything romantic about it. They weren't _dating_ or anything stupid like that. They were just... well – together. That much was clear, even when they didn't say or show it in so many ways.

Their relationship was full of trial and error. There was plenty of room for error, given the baggage they both carried, but they eventually found the golden mean between their two very distinct and very difficult personalities. On most days, meeting in the middle was enough. On other days, they stood their ground so damn stubbornly that they ended up fighting because neither one of them would budge. Those days sucked, mostly because Heero would give him the silent treatment for days to follow; he was annoying that way, a fucking drama queen, though he'd probably kill him if he ever said it to his face. Besides, Heero wasn't the only one in a constantly foul mood; Duo was no saint in that department either. He was aware of his bad tempter. It clashed _wonderfully_ with Heero's own disagreeable character.

There was a penalty for picking up a fight, no matter how just. They argued so damn much, about anything and everything, so they decided on a system. The penance that had to be paid for starting a useless argument was to put a note in the Penalty Jar. Since they weren't getting to know each other as other couples would, talking about themselves on dates and such, they did it by putting a note in the jar. Once things cooled down, whoever started the fight had to write something about himself that the other didn't know and slip the note into the jar. Putting the note in was a form of apology they were more comfortable with than simply saying an empty _'I'm sorry'_.

There were two jars – one for each; Duo's jar was in Heero's place and vice versa. There were times when Duo's jar was the fullest, and other times Heero's jar was fuller. Sometimes Heero wrote something trivial, like _'I don't like sea food'_ , and other times, if the fight was really big and he felt bad about it, he'd write something more profound, like _'My birth name is Seiki. Don't ever call me that'_. Those were the notes Duo appreciated the most and he usually reciprocated the next time it was his turn, replying with a note such as: _'Could wolf down fried shrimps like there's no tomorrow'_ , or: _'Duo is a street name I gave myself. Don't know the real one. The nuns never told me'_.

It was a great way to share things about themselves they weren't comfortable putting into spoken words. The rule was that they never spoke about what the other wrote in his note, never prying no matter how curious they might be. It was a safe way of sharing their thoughts and feelings. Duo now knew a lot more about Heero, more than he could ever know from just speaking to his lover...

...actually, the word "lovers" wouldn't define them either, because that wasn't true in the technical sense of the word; not quite yet. There was never a mutual admission of love. Duo had only said it once, the day he got Heero out of the hospital, but neither one of them has said it since. He supposed that loving each other went without saying. Besides, Duo couldn't picture Heero ever saying 'I love you' or anything touchy like that. It'll just be so _weird_. He'd probably laugh in his face if Heero ever said it. It was enough that there were together, going on a whole year now.

The past year had been a roller coaster ride. They were still learning how to be together. Heero had some hands-on experience from being with Relena for so many years, but that counted for shit. It wasn't the same. And Duo's knowledge of the matter pretty much summed up to what he had seen on TV, and he didn't feel comfortable doing most of that shit. They had to find their own way of making it work.

They didn't go out much, but they did spend a lot of time together, sometimes in Heero's place, sometimes in his. Their time wasn't spent in soul baring conversation, and they hardly ever got physical, just making out here and there – mostly when they got drunk – but still he felt that there was something very intimate about what they shared. It was just... comfortable, peaceful even... in a way. There was a kind of wordless understanding between them, very soothing and reassuring. There were no definitions or explanations necessary. He had promised Heero that he would never leave, as long as Heero didn't ask him to, and he kept true to that promise no matter what. Heero never asked him to leave; he might have been a real jerk at times, testing Duo's commitment to him again and again, constantly pushing boundaries (tonight being a perfect example), but he never asked for it directly, so Duo stayed. He stayed even on days like today, when he knew that he wasn't welcomed.

There were good days too, days that made Duo feel like maybe they were a couple after all, such as the nights when Heero joined him on his patrols and even with his quiet presence managed to make those long lonely night a little less lonely; or the times he showed up at the station late at night with a bag of fried shrimps just to keep him company; or those rare moments when they sat close together in front of the television in pleasant silence, sipping beer and simply enjoying the silence.

They felt good being together, even if it was just sitting in silence in front of the TV or reading in bed. It just felt like they belonged. They slept together too; not sex, but sleeping. They enjoyed falling asleep together, like that night when he had accidently fallen asleep in front of the television in Heero's place once he had finished cleaning up after dinner. Heero had already retired to bed. He took his sleeping pills every night at ten p.m. and by eleven he was out like a light. Those were the only pills he was willing to take, because they got him through the night.

Duo woke up sometime during the midnight newsbreak, surprised to find that he was still in Heero's apartment instead of his own. He got his things together and prepared to leave, but something compelled him to sneak a peek into Heero's room before he left, just making sure he was all right. He stood at the doorway quietly and watched Heero sleep. His feet carried him to the bed without his brain ever instructing them to do so. Heero was deep asleep, snoring softly, completely oblivious under the effect of the sleeping agent.

Next thing he knew, Duo was lying on the bed next to him, watching Heero's sleeping face closely. He studied those handsome features, lax and peaceful under a drug induced sleep. The face of a fallen angel; a creature both magnificent and noxious. He shuddered inside, his heart caving when he thought of all the horrors this face has seen, the pain and hurt it had endured.

He thought of the rape, as he often did. There was no physical trace of it, no evidence of the horror on Heero's serene face, but Duo knew it was there. It was always there, just beneath the surface. He couldn't stop thinking about it either. He would spend hours thinking about what might have happened there, hungry for details because he wanted to know what had been done to Heero, what kind of terrible things he had borne.

It was a sick obsession. He would imagine the worse possible scenarios, tormenting himself with images too vile to be described in words, and he knew that the only way to put an end to this madness would be to ask Heero about it. If only he knew what really happened, what had been done to him exactly, then he would finally put it behind him and stop assuming the worse. That, of course, would be selfish. He would never do that to Heero, never ask him about it just so he could ease his own damn mind, so he didn't. Duo could never avenge Heero's honor, but even if he could, Heero's sexuality wasn't his to protect; the experience was Heero's alone and he had learned to respect that. Heero didn't need him to be a vengeful lover; he was willing to let him in to some degree, which was why months later that Heero finally volunteer some information about his horrendous experience, writing something about it in a note he had put in the penalty jar, but he didn't need Duo to protect him.

Duo continued lying silently, watching Heero sleep. The young man's face contracted into a pained frown. He was having a nightmare. Duo reached for his hand, which rested limply over the blanket, holding it, trying to offer some comfort. He looked down at how his slightly larger palm covered Heero's pale hand. Heero's fingers were a bit curved; the bones never restored completely into place because the stubborn asshole kept using them while they were still broken.

"You're... still here?" he heard Heero asked drowsily, his voice heavy with sleep, and shifted his eyes back up to Heero's face. The young man's eyes were closed, but Duo could tell that he was awake. Heero never talked in his sleep.

"I thought those little blue pills make you dead to the world for seven hours," he said, smiling guiltily for he had been caught in an intimate position Heero had never allowed.

"Nightmares..." Heero murmured tiredly, opening his eyes and blinking sluggishly. He sought Duo's face in the dark.

"Best way to escape them is to wake up."

Duo smiled sadly, looking into Heero's eyes. He pushed himself up on one elbow, leaning over Heero.

"Yeah, sure is," he agreed quietly.

They looked at each other for a moment, before Duo prepared to roll out of Heero's bed. Heero reached his hand to stop him.

"Stay," he said, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark. Duo turned around to face him again.

"You sure?" he asked; "Usually you kick me out by now."

Heero tugged his hand gently, nudging him back to bed, and rolled over to lie on his side, pulling Duo towards him.

"I find that you work far better than any blue pill..." he mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes as he snuggled close to Duo.

"Don't leave..." he whispered, drifting back to sleep. He was out again, cuddled against Duo's chest, snoring softly. Stunned, Duo hadn't moved for at least a minute. Then he smiled, touched by the unusual display of need (must have been the drugs; Heero probably thought he was dreaming). He wrapped his arms around the sleeping young man, drawing him closer.

They made a habit out of it, sleeping over. Heero didn't feel comfortable staying at his place at first; he would try to leave after thinking Duo had fallen asleep. Duo had to stop him, pulling him back to bed before Heero got up. "Stay," he would ask simply, his eyes shining dimly in the dark.

"I'll have nightmares," Heero would mumble, sitting on the edge of the bed and keeping his head bowed down in shame. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't," he would promise softly; "I won't let you."

Appeased, Heero would finally lie back down and Duo would pull him close, hugging him tight. He had found that close, snug, body-to-body contact was the best remedy to ease Heero's anxiety. They would fall asleep embraced and wake up spooned together in the morning. In retrospect, those nights probably would have been the perfect time to finally take their relationship further and become lovers, Duo now mused sadly and heaved a long sigh. He looked away from the altar, shifting his gaze to one of the many glass-stained windows around the church.

There was something very peaceful, very sweet, about those quiet nights spent held in each other's arms. It happened months before Christmas and none of the troubles they were now facing would have gotten in the way. But back then Heero had just been taken completely off the SSRIs and the withdrawal had resulted in what his doctor had named Post-SSRI Sexual Dysfunction, which was a fancy way of saying that he has become impotent.

PSSD was a somewhat controversial diagnosis with no real cure other than Viagra or medication enhancing dopaminergic tone and such – which Heero refused to even hear about. He didn't want any more psychiatric medication and the very notion of using Viagra angered him beyond rational sense. So they went to a specialist, an urologist, who claimed that it had nothing to do with the discontinuation of SSRIs and that it was clearly PTSD related sexual dysfunction that would go away with time.

But fact remained that Heero still suffered from erectile dysfunction, something he had taken hard – no pun intended. It had damaged his already low self-esteem even more if possible and became a great source of friction between them, not because Duo was pushy, but because Heero expected too much of himself and refused to accept that he needed more time. Each time he attempted to initiate something remotely sexual, he struck out and then shut Duo out. They fought about it all the time. Tonight, however, was an all times' record.

Sighing blearily, Duo pulled his cellphone from his dark-blue duty jacket and pressed the digit '3' lengthily until the speed dial function kicked in and the phone dialed Dixon's number on L2. '1' was the voicemail preset, '2' was Heero, '3' was Dixon and '4' was work. That about summed it up. He didn't have anyone else to put on speed dial.

He stared anxiously at the cross above the altar while waiting for the call to connect. A few moments later, Father Dixon's rough voice greeted him warmly:

"Merry Christmas," the old man opened kindheartedly. "I was wondering when you'd finally call. Been a while. I hope this means you're doing well for yourself?"

"I wouldn't say that..." Duo muttered, sighing; "not lately anyway."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"More like another day in _Hell_."

"That bad, huh?"

"...yeah."

"What did he do this time?"

"Actually... this one's on me."

"I see..." the priest let out thoughtfully. He sighed. "Okay, so are you going to tell me about it or what?"

"Don't you have to get ready for Mass or sumthin'?" Duo asked miserably.

"Not for another day," Dixon assured him; "You keep forgetting I'm a day behind you. So tell me: what happened?"

Duo turned to stare wretchedly at the sanctuary while holding the phone pressed to his ear. He studied the cross mutely, unable to put tonight into words.

"Duo, what did you do?" Dixon urged him. "Did you guys have another fight about his... problem?"

"You could call it that..." Duo mumbled and raised a hand up to rub his sore neck. His cheek was bruised, where Heero had punched him, but it wasn't half as bad as the bruising he'll have on his neck in the morning.

"I really messed shit up this time, Father," he whispered, closing his eyes sadly. "Really, _really_ , messed it up."

"You say that every single time and then I call a few days later and it's all sunshine and rainbows again, so get over yourself. Just tell me what happened and we'll figure out how to fix it."

"This wasn't our usual banter, Father. This time it's... well it, uh... It sorta has to do with... baseball," he whispered, looking around anxiously. He didn't feel comfortable calling it was what it was while sitting inside a church on the holiest night of the year. Dixon got the message though.

"Doesn't it always?" he joked and Duo almost smiled.

"So it's... okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just spill it already. No details!"

Duo let out a small chuckle. "Sure," he promised. He took a deep breath, straightening in his seat, and just let it out:

"Okay. So we... we... we finally tried to hit a home run and..."

"Home run?" Dixon cut in and Duo shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't something you regularly confessed to your priest. Up until now he only had to talk about first and second base... sometimes even third, but a home run for a guy who played for the other team was some serious shit, even for Dixon.

"You _know_..." he said, hoping he didn't have to spell it out for the old man.

"Oh," Father Dixon realized what he was referring to. "Okay.  And how did it go?"

"It didn't," Duo grunted, disappointed. "By the end of the night the damn switch-hitter was off trying to hit home base with some _broad_ he met in a bar. Serves me right for falling for a guy who doesn't mind playing for both teams. Big boobs... nice ass... da fuck am I expected to top _that?!_ "

"That bad, huh?" Dixon sympathized.

"Did I mention it was the same bar he was abducted from a year ago?" Duo added dismally, sighing. "Son of a bitch was on some crazy ride down memory lane. I dunno what the Hell is going on in that head of his anymore. He won't talk to me... and it's been _weeks_ since he last talked to Wright. He's losing it, Father. I mean, I expected him to get all depressed when the holiday approached, but he... he was just the opposite. He seemed... _fine_.

"He started jogging more, but it didn't seem that unusual, yanno? I figured he was just trying to clear his head a little. He was keeping real busy all the time... didn't catch a break, but I thought maybe he did stuff so he won't haffta think. It seemed normal, yanno? I only freaked out when he started spacing out again... staring at stuff for hours like he did back then. He stopped eating again too. It got worse the closer we got to Christmas. He wasn't sleeping... got cranky... real anxious about stuff. He's not the nervous type, but anything would just set him off. I let it slide because I knew how hard things must be for him, I figure it was just a phase. But the weirdest part was that he suddenly wanted to... play baseball more, know what I mean? He hardly wanted to 'til now... suddenly he was ready. I was pretty comfortable on third base... we shoulda stayed there a bit longer, I think. Woulda saved me alotta trouble."

"Is he still having... problems?"

"That's the thing – suddenly he was okay! Tonight of all fucking nights – he's okay!"

"So he was finally ready to play ball?"

"Yup! Batter up!"

"I do _not_ need to know who does the pitching and who does the catching here, son!" the old priest laughed goodheartedly. "Please don't paint me a picture. This is hard as it is."

"Jesus, Father, it's just _baseball_..."

"Please don't use the Lord's name in this context. It's not just _baseball_... not in the eyes of the church."

"And since when do _you_ and the _church_ see eye to eye?"

"Are we going to discuss my faith, or are you going to tell me the rest of it?" Dixon asked, annoyed.

"Yeah... sorry," Duo apologized, casting his gaze down briefly. It was not his place to judge, but sometimes Duo wished Dixon would be a bit more like the other priests. He found that he lacked that kind of guidance. His faith has gotten stronger over the past year, or maybe he just didn't bother denying it anymore. Whichever the case, he felt closer to God, and not because he was looking for absolution or forgiveness for the things he had done, but because faith gave him strength. There was a great sense of security when trusting that everything happened for a reason. It gave Duo peace of mind after all he had been through. Catholic faith answered his deep need for repentance. It helped him make sense of all the bad. Dixon didn't; he was basically just a shoulder to cry on.

 "So we tried to finally bring it home, yanno?" he continued telling Dixon about what happened that night. "And... I don't think he was really ready."

"God, Duo, you didn't—"

"Hell no!" Duo exclaimed, cutting in before Dixon could even finish that thought. "I didn't force him into it! God! No!"

"Then what is it? Just spit it out already. I don't have all day."

"I didn't mind waiting, right? You know that. I've been waiting this long and I woulda waited even longer if he told me to. But he said he was ready. He said he wanted to take me out to the ballgame... and I was so freakin' happy that he finally wanted to do more than make-out like a couple of junior-high kids, that I didn't even stop to think about how crappy the timing was... why he was finally willing."

"You mean Christmas?"

"Yeah. We shoulda waited a bit longer..." He sighed, covering his face with his free hand, hiding in shame. "I waited it out for as long as it took, but he... Heero, he... he wanted to. I mean, _really_ wanted it, just as bad as I did. No problems in that department no more, get it? I hit the freaking roof, yanno? But... God, I... I shoulda said 'no'... Shoulda waited 'til after Christmas. We were so fucking drunk... I never shoulda gotten drunk with him. I... I just wanted to see him through tonight. I thought drinking would help, but he wouldn't drink alone so I joined him and then one drink lead to another and another and suddenly we're both on the floor and so fucking hot... He was... he seemed ready..."

"Then what happened?"

"He lost it, Father... totally lost it. I mean, I like it rough 'n all, but... but that was something else. He... he... It was like he was trying to relive it... the rape."

"Was he violent?"

"God, no... No. That ain't it. It's... Well... We gave it a go, okay? Like we used to... and it sucked. _Big time_. I tried not to look disappointed, I mean, that ain't fair, right? To put so much pressure on him like that. He was in there pitching... really trying, yanno? So I said it was okay, but he could tell I was a little... frustrated. I've been waiting so long and then it just... sucked."

"So you had another fight?"

"No... no. I kept my mouth shut for a change. I... I wanted to fix it, yanno? So I... I asked him if it was hard for him because he was thinking back to that night and he said 'yes' so I... I told him... well..." He sighed, pausing for a moment. "I offered that we switch."

"Swit—? Oh. Okay. And what did he say?"

"Well, I told him that maybe if I was the one... pitching... it would be different and he won't go thinkin' 'bout those men... because it would be me."

"And he agreed?"

"Yeah... too quickly, actually. I shoulda put a stop to it then, but I wasn't thinking clearly. I think I wanted him to make it up to me for sucking so bad... and he did too. He knew how much I've been waiting for this night and... well, I think he felt bad so he said yes."

"So you... changed positions?"

"Yeah."

"And then what happened?"

"It was cool at first, but then... then he... He wasn't even there, Father. At first I thought he was really enjoying it, so he was in his own little world, which is okay, but then he called out someone else's name... I think it was one of _theirs_. He... he was getting off thinking 'bout that night..."

"Jesus..."

"Yeah. He kept asking for it to be rougher. It was... I... He wanted me to hurt him, _really_ hurt him, and I couldn't. I-I... I... I didn't want him to make me into one of _them_ , yanno? It was... it was sick! I... It was so... I felt so disgusting. He was reliving that shit through me and I... I was pissed! Here I go tryin' to be all understanding 'n shit, but he just... just goes 'n makes me into this _monster_. I... I kinda lost my cool. I said a lotta things I shouldn't have said... and he walked away. Now we're back at square one... He's right back to where he was last Christmas."

"...I see."

"I hurt him real bad, Father. He... he looked so guilty. God, I... I don't think he even realized what he was doin' 'til I was yellin' at him to cut it out. He didn't mean to do it... it just happened and I made him feel like shit for it. Maybe he was just tryin' to purge it out of his system, yanno? Maybe... maybe I shoulda let him. Maybe that's what he needed me to do for him and I screwed it up. God, this is... this is—"

His cellphone beeped to indicate an incoming call waiting. Duo paused and looked at his phone. The number on the screen was from the station.

"Shit," he whispered and his heart nearly summersaulted in his chest. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"Sorry, Father, I gotta take this."

"Sure, Duo. No problem," Dixon said; "Talk to you later," he added and hung up. Duo hurried to take the other call.

"Maxwell," he said anxiously, already knowing what this was about. They found Heero.

"We got him," the female dispatcher from before cut right to the chase. "Robbins found him wandering around First a while ago. He was trying to climb up the fence to get to the old Bellevue Psych building."

"What?!"

"Yeah. Poor guy was pretty messed up, but he didn't give too much trouble. Mike brought him in on a DIP charge. [[i]] They got him down at the Tombs. Told them to hold off on Process. They put him with the rest of the junkies... you know it ain't pretty. You better get down there."

Duo winced, closing his eyes briefly, feeling awful for Heero. He sighed.

"Thanks Sandra," he said as calmly as he could manage, "I'll be right there."

"Sure thing, hun, Merry Christmas," she said and hung up.

Duo lowered his phone down. He gazed wretchedly at the Jesus on the Cross. "Goddammit, Heero..."

*     *     *

Duo marched hastily into the massive Manhattan Detention Complex, entering the immense gray building while flashing his badge at the guards. The Tombs were a bustling spot even on Christmas Eve. Dozens of cops zipped in and out, dropping off the night's catch before the pretrial detainees were either released from Central Booking or taken to Riker's Island, NYC's main jail complex.

Luckily enough, it was three in the morning, Christmas Day, and the alleged criminals who have been detained during the night were mostly sobering frat boys, homeless rabble-rousers looking for a warm place to stay, sobbing transvestites and maybe a few stab-happy kids with nothing else to do on Christmas Eve than get drunk and mutilate each other, so it was a better crowd than on most days.

A burly middle-aged police officer approached Duo once he walked inside. "I brought him in about a half hour ago," he updated Duo as they walked together towards the elevator. "The guy is as high as a _kite_ ," he remarked sternly and Duo stopped, staring at him in shock.

"You sure?" he asked, alarmed.

The officer nodded gravely. "...'fraid so," he sighed, "I know a Magic-head when I see one," he muttered in dismay, pushing the call button. "Means I'm stuck with him for the night," he muttered. They couldn't go off-duty if their catch was sick or a junkie. They had to watch them, sometimes take them to the hospital. That sucked. No wonder Mike seemed pissed. Duo really owed him for this one.

*     *     *

Psych patients, people suffering from chronic medical conditions, drunks and junkies were held separately from the main prison population at Central Booking, in case they would experience seizures, DTs from alcohol abuse and other drug related withdrawal symptoms. They were kept in individual holding cells, which was a big plus.The holding cells were warm and toasty, but they _reeked_ of humanity; mostly urine. This particular ward was medically supervised by two seasoned and experienced EMTs who had pretty much seen it all.

One of the two EMTs, a middle aged man dressed in Fire Department uniform, was standing in front of such separate prison cell, frowning deeply as he looked at the distraught young man pacing back and forth across the cell like a caged animal. The FDNY medic stood tensely, his brawny arms crossed over his chest, scowling at the young man through the bars. He was brought in less than an hour ago, completely stoic. He just sat down on the cot and stared numbly at the bars. Then, a few minutes ago, he shot up from the bed and started pacing agitatedly around the cell. That wasn't a good sign, so the EMT watched him carefully.

Two cops, one a young man and the other an old-timer, stepped out of the elevator down the hall and made their way towards him. The EMT recognized the older guy and greeted him with a curt nod of his head.

"Stuck working Christmas too, Mike?"

"You kiddin'?" the older cop smirked; "Better this than my wife's parents!" He laughed, but once he looked at his fellow cop's face he turned serious once more. He cleared his throat, scowling.

"We're here for that Magic-head I brought in a while ago?" he said and the EMT shifted his glance towards the tense young cop standing next to him. The rookie was looking at the cell with a hard, surly, face, his eyes shining ominously. The sight was _disturbing_.

"Friend of yours?" the EMT asked, frowning.

"On his better days," the young cop muttered, watching the young man pacing around the cell, caught in his own little world. He still hasn't noticed them.

"Yeah well," the EMT sighed, turning back to look at the young man; "The guy's totally _tweaked._ Been watching him for a while now... he's gonna crash soon."

Duo studied Heero silently, his expression stony. If the EMT was saying that Heero was tweaked, it meant that he had reached the end of his drug binge. The Magic no longer provided a rush or a high. Unable to relieve the horrible feelings of emptiness and craving, addicts usually lost their sense of identity. Intense itching was common and a user could become convinced that bugs were crawling under his skin. They were often in a completely psychotic state, existing in their own world, seeing and hearing things that no one else could perceive. The hallucinations were so vivid that they seemed real and, disconnected from reality, the Magic-head could become hostile and dangerous to himself and others. The potential for self-mutilation was high; no wonder the EMT was worried. He just hoped that Heero would crash before that happened. The crash was imminent.

"Duo!" Heero suddenly called and ran to the front of the cell, grabbing the bars with both hands. Duo flinched, surprised; Heero was _fast_. He looked up slowly at his partner, trying his best not to look appalled. Their eyes met and Heero smiled widely, relieved.

"Duo..." he let out gratefully, leaning close to the bars. He reached a hand out between them, trying to touch Duo, stretching his crooked fingers as far as he could. Duo remained purposely out of reach.

"You're here... you came for me..." Heero slurred and managed to grab Duo by his duty jacket, just a pinch, and tried to pull the young cop towards him. Duo resisted, keeping his distance. He glared at Heero in disgust.

"You gotta get me outta here, Duo," Heero said, the words rushing out of his mouth in a hasty jumble. He turned to look over his shoulder and then whirled back around to face Duo, his face pale with fear.

"I think there are _Shadows_ here," he said very quietly, leaning in closer as much as the bars allowed him. He tugged at Duo's jacket, looking at him desperately. "You gotta get me out before they come for me," he whispered each word slowly, emphasizing their importance: "You gotta get me out!"

Duo gaped at him, too shocked to move. Suddenly, the past few weeks made perfect sense: the hyperactivity, the agitation, nervousness, the spacing out, insomnia, loss of appetite... even the high libido. Jesus Christ... he was a former addict and he didn't fucking see it, maybe because he didn't think such thing would ever be possible – Heero was on drugs!

And why wouldn't he be? Magic was highly addictive and Heero was subjected to large quantities of it for _days_ , binging on the stuff until his body came to rely on it. His heart literally _stopped_ because it couldn't function without the drug. Magic was one of the most damaging drugs on the illicit market. Its effects were long-lasting. The risk for relapse was high even following long periods of abstinence. The memory of the Magic experience or exposure to cues associated with the time of the substance abuse could trigger tremendous craving and relapse to the abuse, so it didn't matter that Heero's experience was a negative one, nor did it matter that he had gone through a complete withdrawal. His body would always crave the drug, especially around wintertime and even more so on Christmas.

There were days when Duo craved drugs too, but unlike Heero he was strong enough to resist it, maybe because he only tried Magic once, or maybe because he's already been to this dark room and he barely got out of it intact. He swore off drugs for good, promising Joe, Dixon, God and most of all himself that he would _never_ use again, if only so he wouldn't have to suffer the torment of going cold turkey again. Heero however, never had to suffer through the withdrawal, he was kept unconscious. He never paid the price for going on the Magic Ride. He simply didn't know better; Duo did.

Sometimes it seemed that every single thing he has been through in his eight years apart from Heero has been to prepare him for this moment. Working as a detective and learning how to crack a case, his newfound faith and relationship with Dixon, taking care of Tomás, losing Joe and being forced to see a shrink, even his addiction – they all happened so that he would be able to come through for Heero, so that he would know what to do. Perhaps God intended them to be apart so that he would have time to learn, to better himself and surpass _her_. Although Relena's intentions were always good, she hadn't been able to help Heero.He could, because he knew what had to be done for him, which was why he looked the young man in the eye and calmly said:

"Sorry, Heero, I can't take you home. Not like this. This is the safest place for you to be right now."

"It's _not_ safe!" Heero exclaimed hysterically. He glanced over his shoulder anxiously and turned back to Duo, his face pale with fear. "They're in here..." he whispered, his eyes haunted; "I can hear them... If you'll leave they'll get me."

Mike and the EMT exchange a concerned look.

"There are no monsters here, Heero," Duo sighed.

"You said that before!" Heero accused; "You were _wrong!_ You were wrong about EVERYTHING! You said the wounds have healed... that it's just the scars now... but they haven't! They haven't! They got me in the end, Duo! They got me! You didn't come on time so they _got_ me! They dragged me back into that place! I was there again! With the a—" he gasped, panicking, as though he had just realized he had been doomed. "The apes, Duo!" he whispered frantically, "They'll come too! You gotta get me out of here. _Please!_ "

Nothing Heero said made any sense. He was delusional, his brain going haywire on Magic. Duo sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Sleep it off," he said, turning to leave. "I'll come get you in the morning."

"Probably for the best," the EMT agreed.

Heero thrust his hand between the bars and grabbed Duo tightly.

"No!" he called out, yanking Duo's jacket hard. "You can't... you can't leave me here!" he cried, tears of distress shining in his wild blue eyes. "They'll get me if you walk away..." he wailed, pulling Duo back towards him. He was leaning pressed heavily against the bars, as though trying to squeeze out between them. Duo looked down at where Heero's long and bent white fingers were clutching his NYPD jacket. His eyes watered, but he reached for Heero's hand and pried it off of him gently. Heero returned to grab the bars, squashing his tear-streaked face against them.

"I need you here..." he whispered, crying, "stay... please... Duo... don't let them get me again... don't let the Shadows get me... please. They never come when you're around... you know how to keep them away... please... they listen to you. You know how to talk to them... Please, Duo... tell them to back off... don't let them come... please..."

He couldn't look at those tearful Prussian blue eyes without losing his resolve, so he looked away, bowing his head down sadly and stared at his black boots.

"I'm sorry, Heero," he said quietly, and walked away. Mike and the EMT looked at him worriedly as he retreated.

"No! Duo!" Heero called out after him in despair, "Please! You can't leave me here! Don't leave! Duo – come back! Don't leave me! Duo... please! DON'T LEAVE ME!!!"

More warm tears flooded Duo's eyes and he closed them in a futile attempt to bite back his crying. He walked away faster, but Heero's frantic cries still echoed in the hallway:

"Don't leave me! Duo! You promised! Don't leave me! Duo – don't go! Please! Not again! Please! Duo! Please – don't leave me! Don't leave... DUO!!!"

He ran out of there as fast as he possibly could and only fell apart once he reached the dark parking lot. The sobs burst out of him uncontrollably and he dropped to his knees, covering his face, crying: "Shit... Oh God... Oh God... shit!"

*     *     *

Duo trudged up the stairs, slowly climbing all five stories leading up to his apartment. He stared numbly at his feet mounting one step at a time, his mind elsewhere. He could not get Heero's desperate cries out of his head.

He shuffled tiredly towards the front door, entered the small apartment, shut the door and leaned heavily against it. He gazed dazedly at his small apartment. Heero's hopeless pleas still echoed in his ears. He had let Heero down tonight. He had broken his promise, the very foundation of their relationship – he _left_. He had failed Heero... again.

"Jesus..." Duo whispered, closing his eyes in shame.

Angry, he pushed off the door and walked briskly to his small kitchenette. He snatched a bottle of Jameson from the top cupboard and opened the cork forcefully. He gulped whiskey out the bottle, letting the burn spread down his throat until his raging mind was sufficiently quiet.

His eyes fell on Heero's Penalty Jar, resting on the worktop by the microwave oven. It was full of little yellow notes reaching almost to the top: one year's worth of apologies and heartfelt confessions. He set the bottle back down on the worktop and walked over to the jar. He twisted the lid open and grabbed a fistful of notes off the top. He read them randomly:

_Took me a while, but now I like you better with your hair short._

_Had a job interview and didn't tell you. Blew it._

_Watched my parents die. Didn't feel a thing. Been thinking about it – their fault._

_I dream about Lizzie sometimes. I dream of being her father. I dream of being the kind of person who could love a child._

_Talking to her again. Please don't be mad. No one could ever replace what she is to me. That's non-negotiable._

_I hate it when you leave a mess behind you. You did it back then too. Clean up or leave. Not your maid._

_When I freak out, please just hold me tight._

_Like to read: mystery novels and thrillers. Don't like to read: those dirty jokes you text me. Not funny._

_I lied about never counting. It was definitely more than 10. Probably around 50. They were just one night stands. Meant nothing._

_You're my emergency brake. Without you I'd just roll downhill and crash. Sorry for being such an ass._

_I didn't like it when you left me on the moon. You should apologize one day._

_Will never try again: going down on you in your patrol car. Sprained my back. Hurts like a bitch. Made me cranky. Sorry._

_You sing to yourself when you wash the dishes. I like listening._

_Nightmares are worse when you're not sleeping by my side. Hate it when we're in a huff._

_Killed a puppy once, was very young. Lost it. They retrained me, killed the part that cared. You brought it back._

_Best time ever: Central Park, this spring. Never been to the zoo before. Let's do it again sometime._

_You shouldn't feel stupid for going to church or believing in god. Keep at it, does you good._

_I let a man burn alive. Shot him and burnt him. Can still smell it._

_Darkness used to feel empty, a place to hide. I miss that._

_I don't like it when you think about it. I can tell when you do. Stop it._

_I miss the summer._

_Everything feels like one big open wound. The bleeding won't stop. You're my only tourniquet. Thank you for putting up with me._

_I still think you were wrong, but I shouldn't have been such a dick about it. I'm just tired all the time. Can't sleep._

_Wish winter was over already. I get real cold and everything hurts more._

_Can't stand the dark. Keep the lights on after we do things in bed or I can't sleep._

_Smoking again. Sorry._

_Favorite toy as a kid: an old Leo model. Stepdad threw it away. Hate him._

_She had a pink bunny. I threw it away after she died. Hate myself for it._

_Feels like he's picking me apart again._

_Doggy, mostly._

_On top._

_Wall Standing._

_Bum Lift._

_Knees on Chest._

_They called me a faggot. I had to like it._

_Now you know. Stop thinking about it!!!_

_When you shot me, did you come for me because you were ordered to, or did you really care? Please tell me._

_Sometimes I think he was right about everything._

Dear God. A cry for help has been there all along. Heero has been rolling downhill for a while now, but he didn't see it. He had read the notes in long intervals, sometimes _weeks_ apart. He never tried to connect the dots, didn't think there were any... some detective, right? It was so fucking clear now when reading them one by one!

As winter approached Heero began thinking more and more about what he's been through. He missed spring and summer, good times they had shared that year while the sun was out and he didn't have to think about the darkness churning inside of him. He was losing control over his own mind, allowing Sloan to mess with him all over again.

"Shit," Duo cussed and shoved the notes back into the jar. He slammed the lid shut and punched it angrily. "Shit!"

His cellphone rang. Startled, he yanked it out of his NYPD jacket and turned to look at the caller ID. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. It was Mike. There was only one reason why he would be calling him.

"Mike, what is it?" he said anxiously into the phone.

"Sorry, kid, but you better get back down here..."

"Why? What happened? Is Heero all right?"

"It got real bad," Mike sighed. "They're putting him in an ambulance right now... The guy freaked after you left. Got real violent... totally _tweaked_. Tried to rip his own damn heart out or something... Kept yelling the beating was too damn loud. Got real messy... Worse Magic sores I've ever seen... Blood allova the place... They're taking him to NYPH."

"Jesus..." Duo gasped, closing his eyes sadly. He reopened them, his gaze falling on the Penalty Jar. He stared at it wretchedly, feeling like tonight he had failed the man he loved in just about every way possible.

*     *     *

"No, no!" a woman's stern voice exclaimed harshly; "High suicide rates on New Year's is an urban _myth!_ " The smart-looking middle-aged woman argued before a discussion panel on the morning show. A title at the bottom of the screen identified her as Dr. Ally Buhrmann, Anthropologist. Another textbox next to it read: 08:12 AM, 01/01/206. Cloudy. 10-30°F.

"When looking at national statistics, you can see that New York City's suicide rate is actually an urban success story," another guest, a man in a suit, proclaimed proudly. The title below identified him as Dylan Grant, City Council Speaker.

"Only _six_ out of a _hundred_ _thousand_ New Yorkers kill themselves in average each year," he stated; "versus _eleven_ people nationwide!"

"Yes," a pretty female host agreed; "But how do you explain the crime spike we experience each year on New Year's Eve? Just this year – _three_ homicides and one murder-suicide in less than _forty-eight_ hours! Not to mention how many must have killed themselves overnight but haven't been reported yet!"

An NYPD sergeant in dress uniform intervened next. A title identified him as Sgt. Dayes of the Police Department's Public Information Office.

"We don't do a day-by-day comparison," he said sternly; "but looking at one day or a forty-eight-hour time period isn't an accurate indication of New York's crime or suicide rate. We _do_ have a significant annual drop in crime."

"Cities are places of possibility," Dr. Buhrmann stated. "They are, and I quote: 'the visible symbol of aspiration and faith', New York especially. It is a symbol of metropolitan life. That being said, cities also fracture traditions and families, and they breed psychiatric illness." [[ii]]

"So you're saying that we're a fertile ground for the _mentally unstable_?" the councilman protested angrily.

"New York _does_ lead in the US with the most serial homicide cases," the pretty hostess pointed out. "I think we all remember the Redeemer terrorizing the city just last year."

"What I _meant_ to say," the older woman cut-in, "is that mental illness has increased around the world, if only because urbanization has increased. In a city you are more likely to be depressed, to fall mentally ill and to use alcohol and drugs. The risk of suicide is expected to increase accordingly."

"Well, there _are_ plenty of tall buildings to jump from," the hostess said, smiling dumbly. The anthropologist scowled at her.

"The time it takes to gain access to a tall building, not to mention its _roof_ , is enough time for many people to change their minds and not jump off after all. Usually the worst case scenario is that they stand on the ledge, look down and then change their minds," she said. "Suicide is highly impulsive. People don't kill themselves because they have a good reason. They don't kill themselves because it's the New Year's, or because they live in a large city like New York. They do it, mostly, because they're drunk, high, sad or angry and they have a means of elimination at arm's length."

"Like guns," the NYPD sergeant pointed out, nodding in agreement. Mr. Grant also concurred, nodding keenly. "People here trust their government to protect them from violence," he said, "so they accept gun-control laws that keep some of them from harming themselves."

"So less guns, less suicide?" the female host quirked an eyebrow. "If that were true, then shouldn't suicide rates have dropped significantly worldwide since the global arms control and disarmament law was passed a few years back?"

"I'll leave that discussion to the politicians," the sergeant laughed awkwardly and Mr. Grant smiled. "So far these laws have only done this city good," he added.

"New York City is a surprising exception when it comes to suicide rates," the doctor agreed; "The big city may cause problems, but the less darkly-glamorous truth is that the suicide rate in America overall is nearly twice New York City's rate. We like to romanticize about how dozens of lonely New Yorkers kill themselves on this particular night of the year, but it simply isn't true."

"Then how do you explain the crime spike?" the female host insisted.

The NYPD officer leaned forward. "The heavy binge drinking and partying during New Year's lead to a temporary spike in crime rate. The NYPD does its best, but we can't be everywhere at once. And for every hanging or jumping that occurs during the holiday season, there's someone out there in this city who didn't kill himself and likely would've given in to despair, if he'd had a gun."

"And maybe it's just that New York City is still, with all its woes, a place of possibilities," said Dr. Buhrmann, "and it makes suicidal people more willing to give life another chance."

"That is a nice thought indeed," the hostess agreed and turned to the camera. "We'll be right back," she promised and the show switched to commercials. Duo looked away from the flat screen TV hanging on the wall, sighing.

His gaze fell on the hospital bed by his side. Heero was laid on it, sleeping under a warm blue blanket. He has been sleeping since Christmas. Duo studied his handsome face; expression blank, skin pale and gray with sickness.

Heero had experienced an acute psychotic episode during his incarceration. He tried to dig his fingers into his pacemaker scar – probably trying to rip it out somehow – before he collapsed. His body had simply shut down, unable to cope with the drug effects overwhelming it after binging on Magic for days, possibly weeks.

A doctor explained that the large quantities of Magic Heero had consumed have disrupted his brain, weakening the synaptic functioning and thus keeping the system from arousing the brain – resulting in a coma. The man told Duo that he shouldn't be alarmed. Nearly half of the coma cases arriving at NYPH were a result of Magic abuse and the staff could handle it in their _sleep_. The drug was near-lethal, though the only fatalities were those poor unfortunate souls who overdosed on Magic and had no one with them once they fell into a coma. They either died of cardiac arrest, or starved to death.

"And we're back," the pretty female show host greeted her viewers once the commercial break was over and Duo looked back at the television again. It was the only way to pass the time, sitting in a damn hospital room for over a week. He had spent the previous night watching the ball drop and the New Year's Eve celebration at Time Square. Now he was watching the stupid morning show, feeling like the only one in the whole God damn city who wasn't sleeping off a hangover and was watching the damn thing.

"Before the break we were discussing the truth behind New Year's Eve alleged suicide streak," the hostess said; "Here with us are Doctor Ally Bur..."

"...shhh..." a faint voice came from the bed. Duo looked down, his eyes darting back to Heero's sleeping face. He frowned, thinking perhaps he had imagined it. He was so fucking tired. He watched Heero closely and once he determined that the man was still sleeping, Duo looked up at the television again.

"Doctor Buhrmann," the pretty hostess opened with another question. "Before the break you were suggesting that depression is a disease of our modern lifestyle..."

"...keep it... down... will you..?" came another feeble whisper and this time there was no mistaking it for anything other than Heero's quiet voice. He sounded utterly miserable; hung-over. Duo switched the TV off. He placed the remote on a small chest drawer and turned to look anxiously at the young man lying on the bed next to him. Heero lay still, his eyes closed, but he was awake. He licked his chapped lips.

"...thirsty..." he croaked weakly, moaning.

Duo got up, sighing. He reached for a small bottle of mineral water from the nightstand, pulled the sports-cap open and leaned over Heero, serving the bottle to his dry lips. He raised Heero's head up a little, supporting him while he drank a few small sips and then turned his head away from the bottle.

"...thanks..." Heero mumbled as he laid his head down against the pillow. He released a heavy breath, exhausted.

Duo settled back into his seat, pulling the chair closer to the bed. He leaned forward, studying Heero's ashen face sternly. The young man still hasn't opened his eyes.

"...hospital?" Heero rasped in a tired, breaking, voice.

"Yeah," Duo confirmed bitterly.

Heero let out a small cough. He kept his eyes closed as he rasped: "...why?"

Succumbed by sudden fatigue, Duo rubbed his face tiredly with both hands, groaning quietly. He lowered his hands, took a deep breath and released it slowly while leveling his gaze on Heero. He studied the man's closed eyes, focusing on how his thick dark eyelashes curled slightly upwards, contrasting his pale skin. Despite the harsh demeanor, Heero seemed so delicate at times; maybe he was.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Duo asked quietly.

"...dunno..." Heero slurred. "...November?"

Duo let out a small chuckle/snort. "Yeah, sounds about right," he muttered.

"...the rest is just... bits and pieces..." Heero murmured, shaking his head weakly. He struggled to open his eyes, blinking dazedly. His eyelids fluttered up and down a few times before he managed to keep them up. He turned to Duo, a pained mixture of guilt, shame and apprehension showing on his bleary face.

"How... bad?"

"Bad," Duo replied in a cold, biting tone. "Real, _real_ bad. Trust me, you dun wanna know."

Heero's eyes fell on the dark bruising around Duo's neck.

"What happened to your neck?" he asked, reaching a hand up slowly to brush his fingers gently against the bruising. Duo grimaced and pulled back, leaving Heero's hand hanging.

" _You_ did," he accused blatantly. "Along with a bunch of other stuff you shouldn't be proud of..."

Heero grimaced. He stared ahead for a moment, looking like he was trying hard to recall something. He shifted his gaze up towards Duo, frowning. "Did... we..?"

"Yeah," Duo sighed, "We did."

"Did I..?"

"Yeah, you did. Congratulations."

"And I let you..?"

"Yeah... you did. It all sorta went downhill from there."

"I'm sorry," Heero let out in a pained whisper, casting his eyes down shamefully. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, you _should_ be," Duo grumbled; "You owe me _big_ for this one. You better come up with a real _fancy_ note if you ever wanna make it up to me. None of that _gloom and doom_ shit. I want a nice one, like you used to write... telling me I have a great ass 'n shit."

Heero smiled weakly. "I'll take that under advisement."

"You better," Duo muttered, crossing his arms over his chest; "This was our one year anniversary, you know. And you totally blew it."

"Those were... extenuating circumstances..."

"Yeah, well, I still want my damn note."

"Fair enough..." Heero agreed and then closed his eyes drowsily. He fell silent, drifting to sleep. Duo observed him with a pair of pained blue eyes. He reached a hand up and carefully brushed Heero's long bangs out of his eyes, his fingers hovering gently over pale skin. Heero opened his eyes, turning towards him and Duo was now gazing at a sea of raging blue. _God damn those eyes_ , he mused irately; he couldn't stay angry with those eyes for very long. There was no fighting the fire that burnt inside.

"Why am I... here?" Heero asked quietly.

Duo pointed at Heero's chest.

"You tried to dig the pacemaker out with your bare hands," he explained reproachfully. "Made a real bloody mess of yourself too."

Heero frowned. "But it was... removed..."

"I know that!" Duo snapped; " _You_ , apparently, _forgot!_ " He snarled, glaring at Heero with hard, unforgiving, eyes. "How long have you been doing Magic, Heero?"

Heero's face hardened into a similar glower. The intense blue in his eyes burnt fiercely. He was going on the defensive now.

"Since last Christmas," he retorted spitefully and Duo scoffed, annoyed.

"Don't fuck with me," he warned; "I mean it – since when?"

Heero held his angry gaze for a moment before turning the other way. He sighed, dropping the badass act.

"...couple of weeks," he mumbled, closing his eyes tiredly. "I... I just wanted to get through the holidays..."

"By doing _drugs?!_ What da Hell?! You gotta know bet—"

"Don't judge me," Heero snapped, turning his head back to glare at Duo angrily. "You don't get to judge me."

"Da Hell I do!" Duo exclaimed, scowling madly. "You read my notes, you know I've been down this road myself. I get to judge you all I fucking want! I told you before, Heero, when we first got started on this – I'm nothing like _her_. If you don't want a judge and jurors, then go back to _her_. She'll hug you and try to kiss your aches away, but you and I both know that that don't do shit. So yeah, tough love is what you'll get from me... especially when you start doing crazy shit like this. Deal with it, or ask me to leave," he concluded his speech by glaring harshly at Heero, daring him to answer his challenge.

Heero held his fierce gaze firmly for a tense moment, before breaking eye contact and glancing down at the bed, abashed. He didn't say a word, didn't dare ask Duo to leave. He never did, no matter how many times Duo dared him to.

"Why didn't you just _talk_ to me?" Duo groused; "And if not me than _her_... You wrote about how you guys were talking again... why didn't you talk to her? Why not talk to _Wright?_ You stopped seeing him all of a sudden... You shut everyone out just when you needed them the most."

"...I know," Heero admitted quietly, staring down at the bed. He was circling the blue wool blanket with his finger.

" _Why?_ " Duo implored, despaired.

"...I don't know..." Heero mumbled, staring numbly at his finger against the blanket. "I... We had this big fight and I... I went out for a walk to cool down and... I don't know. I didn't want you to leave... I wanted to get better. The Jameson wasn't enough... I couldn't... It wasn't enough and I... I was chasing you away..."

"That shit really messed you up, Heero. I hardly recognize you the other night, and that's coming from a guy who's seen you at rock bottom."

"It was probably the cheap kind..." Heero murmured quietly, keeping his gaze cast down to the bed, "You can buy it in every damn street corner... There was this guy on third who used to sell the good stuff, but you guys booked him a while ago..."

"Jesus, Heero..." Duo heaved a sigh, gazing at Heero with a pained expression.

"I'm sorry... It won't happen again."

"I'll make sure it doesn't." Duo assured him firmly. "I'm gonna put you in a program. Get you clean."

Heero finally turned to face him again, hurt.

"I'm not an addict."

"Not yet, you mean."

"It was just a slipup."

"Believe me, it wasn't," Duo sighed. "You need help."

"You're my help."

"Then let me help you."

Duo leaned forward, taking Heero's hand. He looked him in the eye, trying to convey his concern.

"Let me sign you into a program. We'll go together... there's one at my church. I'll be your fucking sponsor, how about it? Finally something we can do together." He finished with a sad little smile.

"I rather we didn't..." Heero mumbled, pulling his hand out of Duo's gentle grasp. "I'll be fine. Christmas is over."

"Yeah, 'til next year. And you won't be fine then either," Duo countered; "We'll never be _fine_. We're as _fucked up_ as they come... a match made in _Hell_..." he joked sarcastically, earning a small amused smile from Heero. He smiled back.

"And you know what? I've been thinking," he said, "a New Year's resolution: we get one question for each note. One question we can ask about the note and the other _has_ to answer."

"...why?"

"Because you can't just write those kinda things and be done with it. I'm not saying we'll always have to ask a question, but we haffta answer if asked one. It'll do us good."

"...you sound like my therapist..." Heero accused in a tired, worn-out voice. He closed his eyes, sighing resignedly.

Duo smiled. "Glad to know we're on the same page then."

Heero snorted sarcastically and opened his eyes. "Fine," he said, looking intensely at Duo. "One question. Answer mandatory."

"Good," Duo nodded, smiling. "And you know what else I've been thinking?"

"...do I really want to know?" Heero muttered in dismay.

Duo ignored his cynicism and kept smiling softly at his lover. "From now on we'll forget all about Christmas in the city," he declared; "Next year we'll go to _Barbados_ or something. I ain't stickin' around here for another white Christmas. We'll hit the beach, get real wasted and just have fun. It'll be like our thing... going someplace warm each Christmas. We'll keep at it 'til we're old and gray and finally settle down in South Beach or something... Sounds good?"

"...better than a DAA program..."

"Great!" Duo confirmed and leaned back into his seat, pleased. "Then it's settled. Oh, and you still haffta join a group."

"...fine..." Heero mumbled blearily as he raised a hand up to cover his face. "Anything else?" he asked, sighing.

"No... I think that about covers it," Duo said, shrugging. "Quit while you're ahead, right?"

"Give me your phone," Heero said and uncovered his face, reaching his hand out. Duo frowned, looking at Heero's outstretched hand and then back at his face. The young man was waiting tensely.

"Why do you wanna phone?" he asked, confused.

"Just give it," Heero grunted, gesturing with his fingers.

Duo scowled, annoyed, but reached into his jeans pocket and gave Heero his cellphone anyway. He placed it in Heero's hand and watched him bring it to his face, hiding whatever he was doing from Duo's sight.

"God, you're not calling _her_ , are you?" he moaned whiningly. "I already told her you're in here. You really don't wanna do this right now. She'll bite your fucking head off. The bitch even threatened me with the visa thing again!"

"I'm not calling her," Heero said calmly, still busy with the phone. It looked like he was typing something. "I'm paying my dues," he said and handed Duo his phone back. Baffled, Duo stared at his cellphone for a moment, then at Heero's expectant blue eyes. He took the cellphone from Heero's hand and looked down at the screen. Heero had typed in a text message: I love you, Duo. More than I could ever say. No questions asked.

Now Duo was smiling like a damn goon.

"You son of a bitch..." he laughed, almost crying.

"Fancy enough?" Heero asked calmly.

Duo chuckled, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, pretty damn fancy. Well, for you, I mean."

Heero reached for Duo's hand and held it gently. "Do you want to ask me a question?" he asked quietly.

"Nope, I'm good," Duo laughed. Jesus, he hoped he wasn't blushing. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"You sure?" Heero asked, smirking, and Duo chuckled.

"Yeah, well..." he shrugged casually, toying with the phone between his fingers, "I got this in writing." He smiled, gesturing with his phone at Heero, swaying it left and right playfully.

"...'sides," he added as he took Heero's hand in his, leaning over his lover. He looked into Heero's eyes, smiling gently.

"I think some things are better left unsaid," he whispered, his lips hovering a mere inch from Heero's. The young man studied his face quietly for a moment, his blue eyes running across Duo's face, committing every single part of it into memory.

"Yeah," he finally agreed, huffing the word against Duo's lips. "Probably..." he whispered and raised his head off the pillow, sealing Duo's lips with a small, grateful, kiss.

*     *     *

 

[i] Drunk in Public

[ii] Writer E. B. White as quoted by TM Luhrmann. See bibliography.


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIGHLY recommend reading this story in its eBook version (PDF format), which can be found [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0dr2eljx2xr44pu/Gundam%20Wing%20-%20Left%20Unsaid%20-%20Elle%20Smith%20-%20eBook%205x8.pdf?dl=0).

* * *

 

They barely made it past the hotel room door and Heero already had Relena pinned down against a nearby table, kissing her fervently while maneuvering out of his shirt. He climbed over her, his muscular torso and broad shoulders encompassing her completely, flooding her body with irresistible heat.

She panted heavily, her breasts heaving wildly up and down as he tore through the buttons of her black blouse with eager fingers. She raised her legs to the table, pushing her business-skirt-covered bum further away from the edge and placing her high heel shoes on the polished wooden top. He took her invitation, positioning his strong legs between hers and wrapping his sturdy arms around her tightly. His face was buried in the hollow of her shoulder, kissing her neck eagerly. He grounded his hips against hers; he was so hard. She moaned, titling her head back.

"You sure Duo won't mind?" she huffed between panting, trying to turn her head aside to avoid his hungry mouth just so she could get a few words out.

"Yeah..." he breathed against her slick neck and turned to nibble at her earlobe ravenously; all the while his hand was fumbling with her bra clasps, trying to get it open with a single hand.

"Don't worry about it..." he whispered into her ear and she shuddered pleasantly at the feeling of his hot breath against her moist earlobe. He stopped and rose up a little so he could look at her. "Or would you rather I stop?" he asked, smirking.

She took a moment to appreciate the sight of his handsome face: soulful blue eyes gleaming softly under the hazy winter light flooding the room and his healthy complexion almost glowing under the heavenly white radiance. It was a snowy day and one could barely make out the city behind the thick fog obscuring the view from a nearby window.

The years have been kind to him, she mused, studying his face silently. Even pushing thirty-five, Heero's fine features still retained a youthful boyish quality. Her own personal fountain of youth. His dark hair was cut short, no bangs, with the top just slightly longer and tousled messily as though constantly raked by passionate fingers. No longer hidden behind a heap of unruly bangs, his Prussian blue eyes stood out like beautiful jewels offering a window to his bare soul. After twenty years of shared ups and downs, he had nothing to hide from her, nor did he try. She loved gazing into his eyes and read his whole life story, especially the parts she had featured in...

She reached a hand up to caress his handsome face. "Don't stop," she whispered, smiling, and wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him back down. "I only get to see you once a year..." she breathed the words out, panting and pushing her hips up against his hard manhood; "No more talking..." she commanded and he smiled back. He took her right there on the table, devouring her body with his intense heat.

"Madam Vice President?" a timid female voice interrupted her daydreaming and Relena turned away from the airplane window to face the aisle. A young woman, around twenty-five or so and dressed in a smart-looking business suit, was standing there, waiting.

"We just landed in DC, ma'am," she said.

Relena cleared her throat while pushing a strand of short hairs out of her eyes, concealing her flushed face. She wasn't used to being caught daydreaming, but today it was out of her hands. She took a brief moment to compose herself and turned to the woman standing in aisle, scowling.

"Well what are you waiting for, Edwards?" she rebuked coldly, "let's get moving." She stood up, straightened the folds of her elegant business-skirt-suit and then stepped into the aisle on a pair of fashionable high heels.

Her fine blonde hair was styled into a short, neat and flat asymmetric cut with geometric lines that drew attention to her stern features – the cold, hardened face of an experienced politician. Her once delicate features have matured into the callous façade of a calculating career-woman who always got her own way. She didn't just step on a few toes to get to where she was today; she had stabbed people in the back, and that wasn't the worst of it. She had only one soft spot, and it was reserved for a long lost love. On most days, that didn't count enough to matter. They called her the ESUN's own Iron Lady. She had earned the title by cold hard brilliance; political survival instincts she has developed after years of playing by the rules of a corrupt system. True, she might have been unethical at times – a moral compass was a sign of weakness – but she did what she had to do for the good of the planet.

The greater good was still her highest priority, and she would stop at nothing to uphold her beliefs. She had devoted everything for her career, even letting go of those she loved, cutting them loose because they were nothing more than dead weight, emotional baggage. Her ruthless pragmatism may not be inspiring, but it was remarkably efficient. She wouldn't have made Vice President by the age of thirty-four if not for being clever, manipulative and voracious.

"Did you set up the meeting with Hector's people?" she asked firmly as the two made their way towards the exit

"Yes ma'am," the younger woman confirmed, "You'll be meeting with them right after your appointment."

"Good. How do we stand on the rearmament bill? Any progress?"

"We still don't have the numbers."

"Did you get Mendozza and Haas on the phone? Did some poaching?"

"Yes ma'am, during the flight. I also spoke to Miller, Hill and Pulaski. They'll vote against the amendment. Others promised to abstain, but we still need more support if we want to put a stop to this. They have a quorum... we don't have the numbers. This is going to take some maneuvering."

"Then we pull a filibuster and avoid a quorum," Relena stated starkly. "We'll play dirty if we have to, I don't care. Earn the time to get me more numbers. If they pass the rearmament reform, they will force the government into a spending spree. We can't rearm the whole God damn planet! Forget the security complications, there's simply no funding!"

"Still, it'll take a miracle to win this," Edwards pointed out; "People are scared, they want weapons."

"People are stupid. Voters don't know what they want."

"Hector will cross it eventually. Why keep fighting it? What could possibly change in the next four days?"

"Empires can fall," Relena muttered menacingly; "I can push this through the Senate, Miranda," she insisted as they stepped off the private plane and were immediately joined by four secret service agents waiting on the sleek runway; it was raining. "And once I do," she continued, "the president will announce a major bipartisan agreement in the state of the Earth Sphere Union. We avoid a government shutdown and Brussels gets credit."

"It's a huge risk, and if it fails – a huge embarrassment."

"The embarrassment will be entirely my own," Relena proclaimed as they stopped in front of a black executive's car waiting a few feet away from the small jet. She opened the backseat door and turned to Edwards, glaring.

"This is on my shoulders," she said; "Whatever it takes."

"Even so," the younger woman argued, "the president is going to require some serious persuasion. Want me to send Adams in? Test the waters? We can play the Chambers card."

"No, I'll do it," Relena decided and prepared to step into the car. "She'll be more amenable if it comes from a friend. Set up a meeting. We fly out of here in four hours," she concluded and settled into the backseat. "Get to it, Edwards," she said, glancing at her expensive wristwatch. "The clock is ticking."

"Yes ma'am," Edwards acknowledged, "I'll have it set up by the time you're back from your appointment," she promised and closed the door behind the Vice President of the ESUN. The car drove off.

*     *     *

Washington DC was not a snow town. It got snow every year, but winters generally weren't too kind to resident snow lovers. A white Christmas was rare, but since winter AC 214 was by far the coldest the DC area has seen in decades, weather forecasters were optimistic that if not Christmas, then at least the New Year will greet the American Capital with a blanket of white. And indeed, come January 215, temperatures finally dropped below zero and snowfall coated the city in white.

A blanket of thick snow covered the massive burial grounds of Washington DC's Congressional Cemetery on the west bank of the Anacostia River. Layers of white mounted up over ancient headstones and mausoleums. An avenue of trees winter had stripped of their glory stood bare, hunching over a narrow red-brick path cutting through a field of gray tombstones. Relena stood at the side of the path, wrapped in an elegant black coat. Her bodyguards stood a few hundred feet away, giving her some privacy. She looked at her wristwatch, tapping her black high heel shoe impatiently on the snowy ground. She didn't have time for this. This was the _one_ time of year she usually reserved solely to herself, a short period of grace during which she allowed herself to feel again, but she didn't have time for it this year; there was too much at stake. And yet, she couldn't just pass on this. She would never do that to him; she did her best not to disappoint (although not effectively), especially on a day like today.

Today marked the twelve-year anniversary of their daughter's death, and ten years since she had given up on the love of her life. Everything changed since that day; she was a changed woman, probably for the worse, but just because she chose to give up on a spouse, a home and a family to advance her career didn't mean that it was any easier going through life alone. At least she still had Heero. He was the only one she trusted to always be there when she needed him, without any obligation to do the same for him if needed; he didn't need her to play that role anymore – he had Duo.

They hardly ever spoke, only when something _big_ happened, like the day she had been indirectly elected for office and he called to congratulate her, or the night Duo was shot in the line of duty three years ago and he called her in tears, afraid he was going to lose the man he loved. She would have flown over if she could, just to hug him, but by the time she managed to clear her schedule Duo was already out of the woods, so she figured it would be redundant.

They seldom met and mostly kept in touch here and there via email and the occasional texting. Heero was one of very few people on the planet who had her private number, although even that form of short correspondence became rare since she had taken office as Vice President of the ESUN. Aside from a few very rare occasions, they only met face to face once a year. This was their annual reunion – right here, by Elizabeth's grave.

Two figures emerged from the fog up ahead, heading down the red-bricked path, making their way towards her. She watched them walk hand in hand and her face hardened into a stony glare; no expression. She didn't have time to feel; not this year. World peace was at stake. Heero would understand.

The two men, also dressed in black, finished their approach and stood before her. Duo let go of Heero's hand and stepped aside quietly, just a small step. He knew his place in this reunion and she appreciated his consideration.

"Duo," she greeted him politely, running her eyes over him briefly. He was a tall, strapping man with a classic masculine look most women appreciated. It was a shame he was strictly gay. His smooth light-brown hair was cut James Dean style, a look that worked for him even at thirty-five. Wearing a black leather jacket to compliment the rugged look, he was the eternal nonchalant bad boy; a rebel without a cause. Quite ironic considering he worked as a detective-investigator for the NYPD Detective Bureau, keeping law and order in the streets of New York City.

"Vice President," he greeted formally, nodding his head curtly. His brooding blue eyes never ceased to glare at her resentfully even years after she had stepped aside and distanced herself from Heero's life. It didn't matter. She didn't need his forgiveness; she had Heero's. She didn't fuss over his cold and guarded attitude. Despite their differences, they shared a unique understanding, a special bond between two people who loved and cherished the same person. It was this mutual and unspoken respect that brought them back together two years ago in New York City – when they both came to witness convicted serial killer Dr. Gerald D. Sloan be executed by lethal injection [[i]]. They stood together behind a large glass window and never said a word to each other as they watched the madman who had hurt the man they loved be put to death. Sloan had enjoyed toying with them, torturing them by making them guess Heero's choice, so they in turn enjoyed seeing him die for it.

Heero had learned of the execution in the next day's paper. He never knew they were there, relishing in vengeance together, and they will never tell him about it either. That was the kind of understanding they shared.

Relena sighed and turned away from Duo so she could have a good look at Heero. Aged into his mid-thirties, Heero was just as striking as he had been in his early twenties, when they had last been together. His hair had grown a bit longer since she had last seen him a year ago. He didn't look quite like the man she had fantasized about on the plane; a man she often fantasized about because she never bothered with relationships and, unlike fellow politicians of the male gender, she couldn't result to prostitutes. Scandals aside, it just wasn't her thing, wasn't worth the trouble it took to keep it discreet.

His hair was still cut short, but it was now styled into a subtle faux hawk,arranged in messy short waves that added rough texture to his handsome face. His blue eyes were nothing like the bright blue jewels she had dreamt of; they were dark, reserved... sad. His features were just as demure, as she expected them to be on this decorous day. He looked good though, healthy; keeping in shape. His skin was tanned, a vital golden hue that contrasted the paleness of winter. Duo's face was the same. She called it their "Christmas Tan", because they always went away on Christmas and spent the holiday someplace warm and sunny, returning with sunburns while everyone else around them walked around with a cold white face and a red runny nose.

"You're late," she opened with a biting accusation, though she didn't mean to place blame. Old habits die hard. "I don't have much time," she tried to explain, "There's this—"

"I know," Heero cut in, speaking quietly. "It's okay."

She smiled faintly, grateful for his understanding. Duo rolled his eyes. She knew he didn't like it when Heero accepted her flaws so easily. He felt that Heero deserved better, and he did. That was why she left.

Her gaze fell upon the plain plastic bag Heero held in his hand. A small bouquet of flowers peeked out of it. She cast her eyes down guiltily, only now realizing that with all the commotion over the rearmament bill, she forgot to tell her assistant to arrange for flowers.

"Here," Heero said and pulled the small bouquet out of the bag. He handed her the flowers and she accepted them bashfully. He knew she'd forget.

"Thank you," she mumbled, her gaze cast down to avoid Duo's disapproving eyes. He saw her differently than Heero did, but always kept his mouth shut out of respect to his lover. He remained on the red-bricked path, waiting behind patiently, while they walked together to their daughter's grave.

"How were the Bahamas?" she asked as they trudged between snow-covered headstones. She was holding the flowers in her hand, tilted down towards the ground. The bouquet shook gently as she walked and a few petals fell, drops of color on a glowing white surface. The cemetery was massive, but their feet carried them to their destination without wavering from an invisible path. They knew their way well.

"Hot," Heero replied quietly, looking at the snowy ground as they walked. He was still holding the plastic bag; there was something else in it. The bag swung back and forth with each of his steps. "Crowded," he added in dismay.

Relena smiled faintly. "I didn't think you'd get away this year," she admitted; "with Candy being due and all..."

"Mandy," he corrected, still looking at the ground.

"Yes, sorry," she hurried to rectify. She had to take better note of his emails. They were scarce, but at least he still cared enough to share his life with her. She had to pay more attention; it's not every day that your ex-boyfriend and father of your deceased child sends you an email letting you know that he and his partner have finally found a surrogate mother to be fertilized with an egg she herself has donated by his request. The least she could do was remember the lady's name; she was carrying their child for God's sake!

"Mandy, of course," she mumbled, smiling awkwardly.

"Candy sounds like a stripper," he groused and turned to look at her, his fierce blue eyes burning in silent admonishment. He had caught her in negligence once more. She chuckled nervously.

"Yes, it does. Sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect. She's doing an amazing thing. When is she due?"

Heero lowered his gaze back down to the ground. They walked past a large headstone and took a turn to the right.

"...couple of weeks," he murmured quietly, "due date is on the twenty-first."

"That's right around the corner... are you nervous?"

Heero's fist curled tightly around the plastic bag.

"Scared shitless."

She smiled kindly. "It's pretty natural to get cold feet, right?" she tried to offer some encouragement.

"I guess," he mumbled, looking down at his feet as they marched through the snow.

"And how's Duo handling it?"

"How do you think?" he snapped and she chuckled.

"This isn't exactly what he signed in for, is it? I think we were both pretty shocked when you sprung this on us. I was sure Duo would flip out when you asked me for a donation."

She remembered that day as though it was yesterday. Heero requested to meet with her about a year ago. He flew all the way to Brussels for the meeting, unwilling to wait until she will be called to DC again. That was enough to indicate that something big was going on, but she honestly never saw it coming when he told her about his wish to become a father, and of her child no less. She knew Heero felt great remorse for never getting to know their child while she was still alive, but grief and regret were one thing; choosing to become a father again was something else entirely. She had to make sure that he was doing it for the right reasons, because having another kid will never bring Elizabeth back; it won't ease the guilt one bit, nor would it heal his deep mourning. It would be wrong to bring another child into this world just to prove that he could do it properly a second time around.

She had to make sure he knew what kind of a demanding lifelong commitment he was entering, and that he had his lover's full support. She needed Duo to be in it wholeheartedly, especially since he would be raising _her_ child; she didn't wish his fierce resentment on anyone but herself.

She was scared for them. The birth of a child could shake the foundations of even the sturdiest relationship and, given their difficult past and messed-up childhood, she was afraid they didn't quite know what they were heading into. Heero told her that he's been entertaining the idea for quite some time now, ever since he saw a gay family – two men and a daughter – in a beach resort Duo and he visited one Christmas. It took him over a year to come to terms with the strange wish constantly growing in his heart and come forward with his crazy idea, finally sharing it with Duo and then with her. _Something about it just feels right_ , he had said, and she realized that he truly wanted it with all his being. She didn't know a better reason to become a parent.

And so, after very little convincing, she adhered his request and helped him form a family of his own. He deserved it, more than anyone. She was honored that he chose her to be a part of it, despite their tragic history. It will be a vicarious motherhood; she will fill her emotional needs vicariously, through him, and try to live in peace with the knowledge that Duo will be the one to love their child in her stead.

"I still can't believe he agreed to go through with this," she said, sighing.

"Maybe he's more mature than you think," Heero retorted quietly and Relena smiled cunningly.

"Or maybe he just loves you more than he hates me," she suggested slyly. Heero smiled back weakly, gazing at the snowy ground as he walked.

"...he asked me to marry him," he said quietly and Relena stopped, stunned.

"What? Really? When?"

Heero paused as well and turned to face her. He shrugged. "In the Bahamas. We're getting our marriage license next week."

"Oh my God... really?"

"Nothing fancy," he said as he turned around and resumed walking; Relena hurried to follow, walking by his side.

"Just a judge of the peace and some signatures. Paperwork, really..." He sighed. "Duo wanted a priest, but I... I don't know. Maybe. I said I'll think about it."

"That's... that's _great!_ "she strained to sound enthusiastic;why was this hurting so much?

"Congratulations. It's about time you two tie the knot."

"...yeah, I guess. It doesn't really change anything. We're mostly doing it so that Duo could adopt the baby. Easier that way."

"Still... a wedding _and_ a kid... big year."

"Yeah."

" _Wow_."

"Yeah..."

Relena reached her free hand to hold his, squeezing it gently. He turned to her and she smiled, this time out of genuine compassion.

"I'm happy for you," she said and gave his hand another soft squeeze. "You really turned your life around. Who would have thought: you – a stay-at-home-dad!" She smiled.

Heero returned her smile awkwardly and then looked away humbly; she had embarrassed him. He let go of her hand and they continued walking in silence. Relena ran her eyes over various headstones, reading names and dates just because. Some graves were ancient, dating over four hundred years back. No one visited those plots anymore. The deceased's names didn't mean anything now.

"Did you guys pick out a name yet?" she asked after a while, turning to face Heero again.

"Yeah," he whispered softly, looking up at the cloudy horizon. "I'm thinking... Isobel."

"That's a lovely name," she smiled, "I like it."

"It's Scottish," he said, bowing his head down again. "It's an ancient form of Elizabeth."

"Oh." It was all she could say. It hurt a little.

Heero heaved a quiet sigh. "We're still in disagreement regarding her last name. I want it to be Maxwell, because that way she'll also be his, but Duo says that it rhymes awfully... Isobel Maxwell."

Relena laughed. "He makes a valid point. Why not call her Izzie for short?" she suggested, shrugging casually. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Heero stopped and turned to her, scowling. "Like _Lizzie?_ " he asked and she grimaced, feeling stupid. Only he could turn her back into a tactless little girl. He was her soft spot after all. If he couldn't make her feel vulnerable, who will? She needed him to remind her of the person she could be if she ever decided to let go of her ambitions.

"Uh... yeah..." she mumbled, eyes cast down in shame. She dared looking up again, feeling awful. "Too much?" she asked guiltily. Heero thought about it for a moment.

"That's not a bad compromise," he finally said, turning to study the cloudy horizon for a quiet moment. "I like it," he added, facing her again. "Izzie Maxwell... sounds natural."

Relena smiled, relieved. Only he would be so forgiving of the hurt she caused him.

"Tell her auntie Lena came up with that one," she said with a small smile.

"Technically, you're her mother," Heero carefully reminded her, his blue eyes burning. "And you should tell her yourself one day."

"I will," she promised, but they both knew she will never keep her promise. Chances were that as the years go by they will grow more and more apart. He will raise the child she never wanted, atoning for sins that weren't his own, while she will keep on striving to achieve one political goal after the other. Why, if the press ever got their hands on this controversial story she'd be ruined. Her deep devotion to him was her one and only weakness; loving him forced her to make stupid choices, dangerous ones. Love was a liability; she had given it up with good reason. She had to keep a safe distance. It was for the best.

The two kept walking, leaving two trails of footsteps in the snow. They were nearly by the banks of the wide Anacostia River when they reached the burial plot. It was small piece of land overlooking the water, marked by a plain gray headstone covered with snow. Relena stood beside him as Heero knelt in front of the small grave and used his hand to clear the snow off the cold marble, exposing the black engraving:

 

**In Ever Loving Memory of**  
**Elizabeth Darlian**

**Born 23rd December AC 199**  
**Died 9th January AC 203**  
**Aged 3 years**

**Held for a Day,  
Remembered Always**

 

She gazed wretchedly at the words. Heero had picked that epitaph, adding it to the headstone about six years ago. The original one, the engraving she had picked when Elizabeth was buried, didn't give more than a name and date. Heero felt that it was too impersonal, so he had it changed. Those were his words, not hers.

Tears stung her eyes; regret for her continuous inability to care as much as he did. Squatting down, she placed the modest bouquet by the headstone. She watched Heero reach into the plastic bag he was carrying. He drew out a small pink bunny and placed it against the tombstone. There was another small bunny already lying against the marble grave, but it was old and ragged, no longer pink after being abused by the elements all year long. He picked it up gently and placed it inside the bag, as he did every year – replacing the old bunny with a new pink one. She never asked, but she had a feeling he never threw the old ones away. He probably had a bunch of them stored in a box somewhere.

Heero then placed his hand over the headstone and just... held it. Relena rose back up, giving him some space. She stood a step behind him, her head bowed down to pay her respects. It was more for him than for Elizabeth, really.

"She would have been fifteen this year," she said quietly, looking at the grave.

"Yeah," he whispered, sighing.

Relena smiled sadly. She was fifteen when she had first met him; a brash and entitled brat he had changed in an instant. Her eyes lingered to the short dark hairs on the back of his head. This man was nothing like the boy she had met twenty years ago, she mused. They've both changed.

"I wonder what she would have been like," she said.

"Hopefully... nothing like us," Heero mumbled and stood up, still gazing wretchedly at the grave.

"Will you tell Isobel about her one day?"

"Yes... I think I will."

"What will you say?"

He turned to her, his blue eyes pensive.

"...that she had a sister I never got to love," he said, holding her gaze firmly. There was accusation in his eyes, she could tell. Even after all this time he still resented her for denying him of a chance to love his daughter. He had only learned to love her after her death.

"Don't make me Izzie's godmother," she implored him.

"I won't," he retorted, and she could tell by his biting tone that he had never even considered the notion. That was how much she had failed him, and their daughter.

"...good," she said, her voice never wavering. "I just... had to make that clear. It was a donation, that's all."

"I know," he confirmed, nodding gravely. "No strings attached," he added quietly and turned away from the grave, preparing to leave. He took the old bunny with him in the bag.

"Make sure you keep this world a place where I can raise my child in peace," he said without facing her. She studied his tense backside for a moment before replying:

"I won't let your sacrifices be in vain."

"Good," he said brusquely and swung a leg forward. "Best of luck," he added, and walked away. Relena remained standing by the grave as she watched him make his way back to Duo, waiting somewhere in the distance.

The two left the cemetery hand in hand, heading towards a life together, building a family and a home Relena has now sworn to protect. Ruthless pragmatism aside, she still loved him fiercely. And in spite of the hurt, she will keep on loving him from afar, trusting Duo to always love him from close by. That was the kind of understanding they all shared; three souls bound together for life.

 

*     The End     *

 

* * *

 

> #  **"Surviving is the punishment for leaving things left unsaid."**

  
_Dr. Amanda Graystone, Caprica, Season 1, Episode 7: "The Imperfections of Memory". Aired 12 Mar. 2010_

* * *

 

[i]The state of New York has abstained from capital punishment and death sentences are no longer sought at the state level, though certain crimes that fall under the jurisdiction of the federal government – and Sloan's crime fits the definition on multiple levels – are subject to the federal death penalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **You've just finished reading 184,493 words - a result of one year's blood, sweat and tears. Be kind, please leave me a review. Please.**
> 
> Elle
> 
> .
> 
> **Research Bibliography:**
> 
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> 
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> 
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> 
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> Friedel Robert, O. Borderline Personality Disorder Demystified. Website. Accessed April 2014. URL 
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> Gelinas Nicole, "The city's suicide epidemic is a myth", The New York Post. March 30, 2014. Accessed October 2014. URL
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> Gendler Tamar, "The Disordered Soul: Thémis and PTSD", Philosophy and the Science of Human Nature, Open Yale Course, Yale University, Recorded Spring 2011. Lecture. URL
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> 
> Luhrmann, Tanya Marie. "Is the World More Depressed?" The New York Times. March 24, 2014. Accessed October 2014. URL
> 
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> 
> Schauer, Elisabeth, and Thomas Elbert. "The psychological impact of child soldiering." Trauma rehabilitation after war and conflict. Springer New York, 2010. 311-360.
> 
> Sorsoli, Lynn, Maryam Kia-Keating, and Frances K. Grossman. "I keep that hush-hush": Male survivors of sexual abuse and the challenges of disclosure." Journal of Counseling Psychology 55.3 (2008): 333.
> 
> Walker, Jayne, John Archer, and Michelle Davies. "Effects of male rape on psychological functioning." British Journal of Clinical Psychology 44.3 (2005): 445-451.


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